Maura's Interlude
by DanteBeatrice77
Summary: (Slightly AU) - Maura is comfortable in her relationship with Jack, until she experiences something with Jane that changes her views on love and sex. This is definitely a Rizzles story, but there is a non-Rizzles love scene in the first chapter, so if that is not your cup of tea, consider yourself warned. Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

The air in the bedroom of one Dr. Maura Isles hovered expectantly around her and the man on top of her. It remained cool despite the scorcher ravaging Boston outside, and as much as she wanted to attribute that to her superior air conditioning, she had to concede that some of the… mildness might be due to Professor Jack Armstrong's struggles out of the proverbial gate. They lay together in her bed, as intimately together as two bodies could be, and the only sounds to punctuate the silence were the occasional sheet-rustle, the perfunctory grunt of stymied exertion, until neither could quite take it.

"Should I just…?" Jack, unable to complete his thought, awkwardly prostrated on Maura, surveyed the connection between them as though it were a manual on what to do. He shrugged imperceptibly, internally, and began to piston his hips at a different angle than the few others he had tried in the past ten minutes. Their first time had been smoother, so much less effortful, so much less… sober. Maybe that was it; he needed a little liquid courage.

"Oh, ok… just a little slower, don't-" Maura squeak-shouted when he sped up, his quickness more sharp than pleasurable.

The professor's face and chest, under Maura's fine hands, reddened as he crawled to a near stop. "L-like that? I'm sorry, I'm usually a little more… as you know," he asked sheepishly, with an awkward laugh.

"It's… it's ok," Maura replied, she bit her lip, adjusted her hips, "that'll work, babe." Her head smacked the pillow and her eyes closed to black out the midday sun pouring through her window, and attempted to lose herself in the hurried panting of her boyfriend.

Her professor. Inelegant, unsure of himself, but _so_ charming. And he cared for her, truly. It was a rare occurrence in Maura's life for a man to put her pleasure on par with his own, let alone above it, so in that sense, he had already skyrocketed near the top of her list of lovers. Technique could be learned, especially with Jack being all but a genius; kindness and attentiveness usually could not, at least not in the bedroom. For today, all she had to do was play lead, provide the rhythm training wheels, and he should make his way through.

Unfortunately, after several agonizing minutes spent stimulated but wheel-spinning, however, Maura had had enough. He was close, teetering on the edge, and she was miles behind, when she decided to take things into her own hands. "Jack?" she cooed, infusing her vocals with honey, with a feline plot disguised in deference. She looked into his dark eyes, thrust her pelvis back into his, and squeezed the curve of his ass. "Jack, honey, let me take over, you've done enough…"

He nodded with gusto, a crooked smirk crossing his mouth, ego intact. That was the thing with Professor Armstrong: he, not unlike many men, needed a good pride-stroking. So her face asked for permission, while her body worked double-time, flipping them as soon as she saw even the first hint of assent. Her legs clamped over his, and she clenched her core, her powerhouse abdomen, to poise herself over him, riding in overdrive to make up for time and orgasms lost.

"God," Jack croaked, blindsided.

"Fuck, fuck…" she whispered as she increased her pace, moving a hand between her legs to help herself along. Her man stared at it in hurt for two, three heartbeats, suddenly clued in to his relative obsolescence, but she shuddered in victory before he could get a word in about it.

"Maura," he said simply, hands on her strong thighs. He was pacified when she bent to lower a kiss to his forehead, but whimpered when she got up to find some clothes.

"Sorry, Professor, but I'm late for softball practice," she smiled, giving him a wink. She pranced about in search of her jersey and cleats, taking no heed of him as he sulked in the sheets.

"Can't I come watch you?" He asked, knowing full well the answer. "I think you would be cute out there on the diamond. Plus, I'm a baseball guy, remember? I'm sure I could give you some pointers."

"I'm a lot more than cute, mister," Maura chuckled despite the diminutive that rubbed her the wrong way, "and you absolutely cannot. Jane already only agreed to let me play because she owed me; I'm already on thin ice," his face fell again, and he nodded in reluctant understanding. This softened Maura's heart. "And of course, she would ream me if I was distracted by the presence of a handsome man in the stands and not focused 100 percent on the play in front of me."

This answer pleased him. He liked Jane, genuinely, for her love of the game, and he also liked to feel wanted. "Jane is a pistol. I wouldn't want to get on her bad side." He smiled to signal to her that everything was well, and she patted herself on the back as she neatly tied the laces of her cleats.

"Good. I wouldn't want you to either," she said. She moved to kiss him, and then pulled on her Boston Homicide cap. "Lock up when you leave?"

"Of course."

"You're late, Doc," whispered Frankie to Maura as she stalked up to the fence behind home plate at Teddy Ebersol's Red Sox Field. Sweat peppered the back of his jersey and cap, but he was in good spirits nonetheless. His eyes never left the batter opposite the pitching machine, his older sister. "You know last person to arrive has to shag fly balls from the laser show." He threw a thumb in the direction of the plate.

"Shh, maybe she won't notice," Maura, still acclimating herself to the oppressive heat, acknowledged him. She touched his bicep and followed his eyes.

"You two should really learn how to whisper," Jane barked in between loadings of the machine, turning to face them with the barrel of her bat in her grasp. A pair of Oakley shades hid her presumably playful eyes, so her upturned lip seemed more dangerous than not. Frankie chided himself for saying something.

Maura noticed two things when her friend finally curled her fingers through the chain link of the fence that separated them. One, Jane always towered higher than she remembered, their height difference enunciated by the shade suddenly cast on her from the brim of Jane's hat. It thrilled her, sent small zaps of electricity through her thorax, made her feel safe, protected, not intimidated. Two: the detective's personal scent, muddled with the humid musk of her sweat, fascinatedMaura. Maybe her previous romp with Jack compounded the situation, but she also conceded that studies had found truth in the allure of some humans' smells over others – Jane smelled good to her because of some chemical reaction between the two of them that made them suitable to each other. She reveled in the fact that she had a friend close enough for that to occur.

"Where were you, huh? You live five minutes away and you still got here dead last," Jane teased. She flipped the lenses of her sport sunglasses upward to reveal Arabica irises.

Maura harbored no hesitation in meeting them, smiling back at them. "I was… otherwise occupied," she answered, reddening.

"Mmm. I think someone was otherwise occupying you," Jane quipped, with a hint of raillery in her chuckle. Someone called out that the pitching machine was ready; she waved them off without looking back.

"And that's it. I can see this is an AB conversation," Frankie put his hands up, slowly backing away until he picked up a bat to take his occupied sister's place.

"Maybe. Are you going to make me take the outfield when you hit again?" Maura batted her lashes theatrically, and Jane only put her head down in mirth.

"Honey, tell me why I should even let you on the squad," she responded, in true managerial fashion, "when you picked Jack's junk over us."

"Au contraire, Detective, I picked my own orgasm over the team," Maura said, stepping on her tiptoes and leaning in so that only the fence separated their faces.

"Either way…" Jane started, pausing, as her friend inched closer, "no. You don't have to shag fly balls. It's hot. I'll make my brother do it."

"Hey, Skip!" Frankie called out sarcastically, apparently finished with his round of batting practice, "you gonna take round two or stand around all day?!"

"It's already my turn. I'm gonna hit, ok? Try to stay cool," and just like that, one of Maura's favorite Janes appeared, the kind, soft one. Her eyes crinkled in a tiny smile before she flipped her shades down again, and she jogged back to where Frankie waited for her. She must have informed him of the switch in duties, because he cursed, but then grabbed a glove and ran to the outfield.

 _Jack was wrong_ , Maura mused. _Jane isn't a pistol, she's a Winchester, and I'm about to watch her do barrel work._ At 2PM on a late August day, those Rizzoli joints needed no lubricating, those muscles needed no loosening, and Maura prepared to study one of her favorite subjects: anatomy. Her detective friend was a master class when she was at the plate, a carnal Sistine Chapel of torque. This day especially, however, must have been a clinic day, the way Jane was hitting. She wondered for a moment about bringing her new class here this quarter, seeing as it was all about physiology and movement. That thought ultimately was pushed away in a selfish rush – this was her time, away from work, away from the obligations of the university.

It was her time to focus on the pivot joint of the hips, to watch explosive movement, catastrophic vertebral rotation, culminate in a singular, microscopic, metal-meets-leather strike. To put it bluntly, the bat was not the only thing that Jane wielded well. It was all about the mechanics around the bat, in the pelvis, in the core, in the arms. Those created a successful swing. A home run every time, even if only metaphorically.

 _Because Jane can even manipulate that,_ Maura mused as her fingers uncurled from the chain link and her feet walked of what seemed their own volition to the dugout where the others waited. Jane could unload on a pitch and send it over the fence, or she could choke up and place the ball far enough down the line, close enough down the line, to beat the throw for a bunt base hit.

"Can I take a few swings?" Maura called out over the whirr of the pitch machine. She wanted to do those things too. Call her competitive, but an MD wanted to perform, no matter what the task presented.

Jane found an in-between pitch moment to respond. "Yeah, let me take two more, make it easy on Frankie," she barked behind her shoulder, unwilling to turn from her position. Maura had seen that before – some superstitious thing about not wanting to lose "the wheelhouse". She whacked a couple of softballs up the middle, and then went to turn off the empty machine. "Gimme the bucket, little brother, and I'll reload. Pillow princess over here wants to take a couple whacks."  
Frankie giggled as he set the full bucket next to his sister, but rather than be incensed, Maura merely shrugged and grabbed the bat out of Jane's hand. "Who said I was anywhere near any pillows, Jane?"

Whatever her intention, she sure received a reaction. The detective colored, and the tips of her ears burned. She said nothing.

"Are you going to load me up, or what?" Maura prodded, and even Frankie was starting to feel embarrassed.

Jane quickly recovered, and merely winked at her best friend.

"You want me to field, Janie?" Frankie asked. His sister didn't quite have a chance to deliberate, however, because he was already halfway out to second base when she replied.

"Sure, we'll work on grounders today," she said. "Ok, Maura? Ground balls good with you?" Suddenly, she was all business, and Maura loved that she loved this sport so much. The doctor just didn't quite get why she needed to hit balls to Frankie when Jane got to hit them all over the place.

"Why can't I just let 'er rip? You get to do that," she half-whined.

"Well, when you can control where the ball is going, you can. But right now you don't have enough power to produce useful fly balls," Jane replied, and Maura looked offended.

"I do so-"

"Look here, Baby Girl. I may have owed you one and that's why you get to be here, but I'm still captain and my goal is still to make my team the best it can be. So let's not fool ourselves, ok? You're not gonna hit home runs all over the place. I said _right now_ you don't have enough power. I didn't mean ever. So do me a favor, and while you work on that, give me the best of what you _do_ have. Like speed on the basepaths," at this point, Jane was towering over Maura again, and Maura felt that familiar comfort tinged with a little something that must have been respect. "You're fast. You learn to hit the ball on the ground wherever you want, those fat bastards on Vice could try all day and never throw you out once."

The medical examiner, smirking goofily, couldn't help but wipe at Jane's right eyebrow with her thumb. She caught a bead of sweat headed for the white of her eye, and Jane didn't flinch. "Ok," she assented. Simply. No fight, no argument. In fact, with a little bit of giddy warmth at the fact that Jane knew exactly where to put her, how to use her, all for the benefit of the team, a team she now felt a part of. _That_ she could definitely accept.

Frankie had apparently had enough of the banter that he could not hear.

"Why am I asking this again? You gonna stand around and yak all day? Or you gonna actually hit?"

"Ok?" Jane asked, ignoring her brother's jab.

"Ok," Maura repeated.

"What, no scientific facts to prove that you're actually better at this than I am?" her friend asked, smiling good-naturedly.

"No, because there are none. And I would like nothing more to learn from the best."

"Ok, then let's get to work."


	2. Chapter 2

"You got nothing?"

"Proof of a congenital heart defect is not nothing, Jane. It just doesn't point to murder."

"So you got nothing."

Maura sighed without answering. Cranky Jane had arrived, blustering through her lab full force, anxious and yet pessimistic all at once. Cranky Jane didn't care about how her words felt to others, and she didn't care what methods she had to use to get what she wanted, even with her best friend. It was what she was doing now: prying for information that she wanted, forcing her needs into the distinctly non-needs-shaped hole of the evidence. The worst of it all was that try as she might, Maura could never bring herself to love Cranky Jane less than any other of the Janes sent her way.

But that didn't mean she had to put up with it. "You know, sometimes people die because of these types of things. Sometimes people die and it has nothing to do with the malicious intent of another person."

Those thick Sicilian brows narrowed, and an upper lip may or may not have tried to snarl. But Jane's eyes, darker in the confines of the morgue, portrayed a mini-battle waging behind them: the one of _Maura is right and I am struggling not to be an ass._ Maura liked this Jane, too. "Yeah, but not this time, Maura. I just know. Something's wrong. Wife's cheating, divorce proceedings are hell, cushy job? It smells a whole lot like something other than heart attack."

"To you, maybe," Dr. Isles remarked. She couldn't fault Jane, really. Behind the Doberman was a baser desire to find justice for others. She fed off of it, so it made sense for her to be hyperaware of social circumstances. But the medical examiner would not compromise. Not here. "But it can't to me. I am telling you what I _see_. What I can report, what my mind can think of as possible causes, substantiated by all of it. You _do._ You go out and act based on my information. That's a skill that I don't have, but I can tell you that ignoring what I've said to fit your hypotheses is just going to make them wrong, in the long run."

"Yeah," it was Cranky Jane's way of admitting that she was right without having to say it. Maura didn't need it said anymore, though, after having known Cranky Jane for so long. See, she knew the reason Cranky Jane even existed on the job was that things were moving too slowly for the detective's pace. Jane's confidence in her abilities ran leaps and bounds beyond the moment's science, and that frustrated her.

Understandably so, the doctor mused. She inherently got the dilemma: brain moving too fast for what she knew yet couldn't definitively prove. The biggest difference between them? Maura had no qualms about speaking that confidence aloud. In fact, she often needed to when others misjudged her, or underestimated her. For Detective Rizzoli, voicing that supreme confidence could get her killed, or worse, disrespected by her colleagues, which also could eventually get her killed. So, it manifested itself in little ticks, in impatience, in near endless energy.

Maura could not deny that this was attractive in Jane.

Or in anyone for that matter, it was just that no one did it like her best friend. No one cared so damn much that they honed their skills to the point where they had no peers, at least that she could see. Just herself and the woman standing at the end of her table.

The beauty of it all, too, was that attractive Cranky Jane had a weakness. This was good, as Maura could only put up with her for so long. Even better was that Maura knew herself to be the weakness. She smacked the purple latex off of her fingers, twitched her nose at the lingering talcum, and removed her disposable apron. She took off her protective eyewear, and smiled as she walked straight to the detective.

"What?" Jane asked, and apparently the smile was highly infectious, because she couldn't hide the little smirk that appeared, nor the raised right eyebrow. She tried to infuse the question with bite, but simply couldn't manage more than a tiny bit.

This deterred her friend in no way. That friend grabbed the lapels of her blazer and straightened them, her fingers moving to expertly adjust a purple oxford's collar. "You are smart. You are passionate, hungry, and kind, too. Your dogged pursuit of the truth, of the right thing, is well, sometimes it's exhausting to me. But it's unforgiving, relentless, breathtaking. You are undeniably the best at what you do."

With each word, Jane looked around them less and less. More and more she looked only down to Maura's green eyes, and she found no falsehood, no foul play, no teasing. She inwardly thanked her friend for this moment of release. "I know," she said privately, only between the two of them. Maura allowed her to be herself, without the trappings of false modesty or hyperfemininity. She could simply acknowledge it.

"I know that you know. I know, probably better than anyone, Detective, that your ego needs no petting. But sometimes, you just need to hear it. From someone who isn't you. From someone who likes you," the doctor responded, smiling. She released Jane's collar, smoothed the fabric of her shoulders, and breathed out, satisfied with her work. Cranky Jane would be no more. You're welcome, homicide division. "Tonight I am having dinner with Jack, at my place. You are welcome to come, if you'd like."

Truthfully, Maura knew the answer. She knew Jane didn't quite care for Jack, but she was also aware that Jane kept all of this admirably reined in to make her feel better. So she would always offer.

"Nah, I don't want to infringe on your date. I'll eat at home. But thanks. Maybe we can have lunch today?"

"Of course, barring any emergencies."

"And Maura?" Jane asked as she walked back towards the official-looking double doors.

"Yes?"

"You're those things too," Jane said, her cheeks coloring. At the manicured brow raised in a question, she elaborated. "You're the best at what you do. You're the best at a lot of things, and kind. And ten times smarter than I could ever dream of being."

"I know," said Maura with a wink. Jane carried a laugh into the hall.

* * *

Lunch was never to be. Apparently all Jane needed was to be whipped into shape, and off she flew into a wellspring of genius. Some seemingly inconsequential detail became the crux of everything, and by 5PM they had arrested the wife's new fiancé, who had indeed stowed a potent potassium solution in his car, along with a few unused hypodermic needles.

A relatively easy case. Not a grueling, unsolved affair. However, Maura did count it a shame that she did not get to eat with the investigator of the hour, as lunch was probably forgotten as soon as they parted. She'd received a text, a sorry, but one infused with the electricity of a hunt. She could always read Jane, and hunting Jane was a sight to behold, even over SMS. She made a mental note as she finished seating herself across from Jack, to celebrate with her later.

"How was work?" Jack asked, as though right on cue. He was a well-mannered man, speaking before opening his mouth wider for a bite, making sure to eat his salad before his entree, as she intended.

"Well, we broke a case that had been lingering for awhile," she smiled in response, taking her own bite.

"All thanks to you, I'm sure," he replied, a proud, lips-only grin on his face. He admired her tenacity, her intelligence. He, as an engineer, was no slouch, but she had the truly exciting profession, as far as he was concerned. Dead people? Murder? Cutting edge lab and the entirety of the Commonwealth at her disposal? She was so lucky.

"Actually, no. I credit Jane's sleuthing on this one. I presented her with facts, that's all. She took them and was able to dig until she found something extraordinary," she deferred in truth, not in modesty. There were times that she definitely would take the credit on some cases, but this one was her friend's.

Jack missed that point. "Don't belittle yourself, Maura. You're the absolute best," he offered, sobering a bit.

"I know that, Jack," she asserted, and he winced involuntarily at the unabashed confidence. Maura registered it. Did he expect an expression of gratitude? She had to remember that he wasn't Jane; she probably should guard herself a bit more. "Thank you for saying it. But part of being the best is being able to give credit where credit is due. And in this instance, the credit should be Detective Rizzoli's."

He looked at her; it seemed to her as though he had shrunk a little bit. She hadn't meant to be abrasive, she had hoped he didn't take it that way, but here he was, a little defeated-looking. It reminded her of the moments leading up to her finding of Jane in that building, shot and scared, protecting that vulnerable young girl, Tasha. He had the same face then, small, needing, asking to go with her, insisting that he could help.

Poor Jack. Deep down, she mused, he only wanted to be wanted. So, she would shift to a topic that he could definitely discuss. "I've thought about asking her if she might be interested in teaching a seminar on campus, actually."

"Oh?" he asked, straightening up in his chair and cutting a piece of fish to eat. "And what would she teach? Does she have a degree?"

Ignoring the questions about qualifications in terms of degree, she smiled to herself. Jane was more than capable, but people like Dr. Armstrong had so many letters after their names that they needed a little of that world in order to relate to the other one, the one that Jane inhabited. "She has fifteen years of law enforcement experience. She would be a fantastic asset to the Criminal Justice Program."

"That is true, I suppose," he said, looking torn and truly professorial about it. "But, you know, not everyone can teach, Maura. It's a commitment that someone as… busy as Jane probably would not have time for."

This irked her. His reasoning itself was sound, but his tone suggested that he doubted her friend's ability. "I believe that what you're saying is true. But I am a little irritated at your implication that I shouldn't ask her."

"I'm sorry," Jack swallowed. In the most professional tone he added, "that is not what I meant. I just know that Jane is very busy. She's out saving the city. Plus, teaching is kind of, I don't know, our thing, you know? It's how we met."

Ah. There was the issue. She grew warm at the implication. He was jealous. Only one other person before him had shown jealousy at someone else taking up her time. And that someone else was the person Jack was currently jealous of. She saw the predicament. "You're right," she said, grabbing his idle hand. She soothed and ran her thumb along his, and he beamed at the comfort, the acquiescence being thrown his way. "plus, I hadn't really given it serious thought. I'll shelve it and it can be a conversation we have another day."

He liked this; it placated him. It was something in her that turned him on. Looking at both of their plates and seeing them empty, he seized his opportunity. "Want me to clear the table? You should wait for me upstairs." Jack attempted a luciferian smile, and winked quickly at her. He ended up looking a little like a teenage boy trying to emulate something he saw on tv.

Though his attempt failed, Maura laughed at its adorableness nonetheless. She could use a little immunoglobulin A, she supposed. "I'd like that."

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for all your follows and favorites! And don't worry, while Jack is in this story, this is one of his last major scenes. Chapter 3 will focus more on the people we all really care about. If you're interested, this story has a playlist on 8Tracks. There's a link to it on my Tumblr, and I'll link the post in my profile here. Remember that I always love to hear from you guys, too: you can review, PM me, or hit me up on Tumblr. Happy reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

"Gettin' real tired of seeing Jack's pasty ass at seven in the morning, Maura," Jane grunted, straight into the travel mug prepared just for her. She and her friend walked toward the cruiser she had driven to pick up the doctor at home that morning. She'd walked in, only to see Jack in yet another one of Maura's ensembles in a quest for his clothes. It had taken her the whole workday just to process it.

"Perhaps you should knock before entering, then, Detective," Maura snarked, entirely in good faith, entirely in a way that, had Jane not been especially irked, would have impressed the cop. They each took their seats, and Jane managed to buckle up, start the car, and reverse, all one handed, before a set of fingers grabbed her mug from her and placed it safely in the console.

"Maybe the guy should keep track of his fucking pants. Who loses their damn pants at someone else's house?! Multiple times?!" her tone rose, and she felt her lack of food, along with a little something else she couldn't quite pin down, boiling her blood. She turned out of the parking garage and into Boston evening traffic.

The medical examiner breathed in before responding, used to these outbursts. She found if that she remained calm, her friend would eventually get there. "Maybe you shouldn't have so much caffeine after five pm, and maybe you should eat lunch so that we don't have to bulldoze through traffic until we find the nearest dive that has your beer. But, for the record, I agree. It seems to be a forming habit, and not a good one. I however, do like seeing his ass," she replied, smirking at the now blushing cop driving the car. Flustering Jane was always her response to her irrational anger.

"Ugh. Why?" Jane wondered, more rhetorically, more to herself, but Maura caught it. And she didn't do well with rhetorical.

"Because, I find him attractive, and I'm sleeping with him," she said, matter-of-factly.

"OK, ok just stop. This is gross. I gotta eat something or you talking about your boyfriend's behind is going to make me sick," Jane made a gagging motion as they stepped out of the car and towards the entrance to the bar and grill. Boots crunched against the gravel of the parking lot behind the building, while heels lightly scraped to catch up.

They reached the door, and Maura grabbed Jane's arm to steady herself before walking in. It was a small, clean, Italian place they liked to hit up when they wanted to escape the stress of the day. The Robber was fine, but so many of their friends and acquaintances frequented it. This could be a good thing, but today, especially with the missed lunch before, they needed some alone time to reconnect. Thus, _Parla_. It was a nice mixture of cheap alcohol and upscale Italian dishes: foods Jane had known in her childhood, dressed up enough for Maura to want to try.

They took their seats, drinks coming soon after. "Would you like to share something?" Maura asked, not looking up from the menu she had in her hand.

Jane took a hearty swig from the bottle she held, pulling her lips back in a drinker's grimace. It was cold. It made her feel good. "Sure. I'm hungry enough to eat just about whatever." She acquiesced.

The medical examiner raised a brow: usually Jane did not say these things, having grown afraid of the choices she would make. It was a rarity indeed; she had to choose wisely and show that she would not abuse the trust of the hungry woman sitting two feet across from her. "Well, I suppose you and I are accustomed enough to eating off each other's plates, no?"

This got a choke from the detective across from her, beer threatening to spill out of her nostrils. Immediately Maura grew concerned.

"Jane! Are you ok?" she asked, reaching for her napkin and handing it to the other woman.

Jane refused it and cleared her throat. "Do you not hear how you sound?!"

"I'm sorry?" her best friend replied, confused. She touched dainty fingertips to the exposed suprasternal notch under her skin, which her Thursday workdress showed off. To be honest, the night before had left her feeling confident, in control. Jack had needed her to take over, and she did just that. So, she wore the deep navy dress in a fluid attempt to recapture that feeling. Perhaps that had something to do with how her words were interpreted.

"Nothin'. Just forget it. I see our waitress comin'," Jane waved her over, careful to avoid her bottle with her wrist, but hastened to reroute the conversation. The young woman, brunette, not more than twenty five, appeared in traditional black server garb. "Hi, we're ready. Give us the _prosciutt'_ wrapped chicken breast. I wanted steak, but this has bacon. Good compromise?" Jane turned and asked Maura who merely nodded, curiously unable to do much else besides hand over her menu. "And _please_ , more alcohol. For me and my friend here."

It struck Maura all at once, or rather it was little strikes all at once. Did it start with Jane taking total control with the waitress? Or was it the way her perfect Greek-Sicilian lips said something like _prahshut'_ where she would have inserted the nasally Italian _prosh-iootoh?_ Her narrow glimpses into Jane's heritage were truly rare, but fascinating. Maybe it was the way she seemingly intended to get them drunk this evening. In any order, it did not matter: she was too busy feeling very… lucky that this was her best friend to really phonate until a few moments later. "It sounds good, very good."

Jane, with the response being so delayed, looked up in a question before it registered what Maura was talking about. "Good." She said before taking the next bottle from the waitress. "Thanks."

"Why don't you like to talk about it?" was Maura's next utterance, two minutes later. It was even more confusing.

"Talk about what?" Jane replied.

"Sex. I'm assuming you choked because you thought I was insinuating something sexual. I am just curious as to why."

"Two words: I'm catholic," said the detective, who turned bright red despite no innuendos in sight.

"Sure, but not devoutly so." Maura reasoned, undoing both of their place settings for them. She placed Jane's fork, spoon and knife how they should be, and heard no dissent.

"Maur. You don't gotta be devoutly Catholic to have catholic guilt. Or catholic shame. It's just part of the gig," Jane said.

"That's too bad," Maura replied, taking a religious sip of her cocktail. There was always something about Jane walking into her church's worship hall, something about her taking Eucharist, about her repeating centuries old prayers to no one in particular. Something Maura very much liked, and gravitated towards, when they went to mass together. But it wasn't worth the feelings of guilt that came with it – it made conversations like this herculean ones.

"I don't disagree. But talking about sex isn't so bad, I guess. At least not with you," Jane said. She watched the waitress move behind the counter. Just because it wasn't so bad didn't mean she had to look forward to it, but Maura was pressing, in her own way.

"Well, you could have fooled me," the pathologist chuckled, forcing Jane's gaze back to her, to the plunge of a neckline, skin speckled with kisses from this afternoon's sun.

Jane gulped a mouthful of blue moon – even with that oral overstimulation, a flowery, sweet perfume wriggled into her nostrils to settle into her lungs like a good feeling.

"What even would you like to know, hmm?" she asked. Maybe it wouldn't be so painful when Maura's eyes were so soft, so trusting.

"Honestly, you shut me down so fast, I've never really had a chance to think about it. But, it's a big part of our lives and-"

"Our lives?" Jane clipped, her lips curling in a Mediterranean wave.

"Well, my life, I suppose," Maura clarified, having a sudden, inexplicable desire to surf. "But it's very much a part of my life, and I share everything with you." There was the friend from the morgue the previous morning – the one that knew how to saunter into every crook and crevice. The one who, for all her assertions that she wasn't good at social situations, sure was good at reading the detective, good at anticipating her needs. How do you refuse that? How do you mistreat it? Jane sighed.

She leaned forward, a little lubricated now that the extra alcohol had reached her empty belly and started to travel out into her bloodstream. "You know what? You wanna talk about sex? Let's talk about it, right now. I'll give you this one dinner to say anything you want, and I'll do my best to not wither away, ok?" It wasn't a challenge, or a flirt, it was truthful, and an attempt to give Maura something she clearly seemed to want.

"Hmm. I accept," the medical examiner said. Her tongue ran the rim of her glass to catch some of the extra sugar. Jane fidgeted, probably unknowingly. "I promise I won't be too bad."

* * *

With dinner eaten, a couple more drinks knocked back, and a few harmless teenage embarrassments thrown around, Jane survived. She and Maura rose after paying the check, and climbed back into the cruiser.

"You know, I told you about my shitty high school tit-grab story, starring none other than track captain and all-around douche Henry, and you've shared a pretty… _interesting_ one about you and Ian in some fucking jungle, but I have yet to hear the appeal of Jack," the detective said. She fumbled with her seatbelt, rethinking her decision to drive when Maura had to help her buckle it. _Oh well._

Maura tried not to let on that this request did not surprise her. Her head felt light, as though it floated above her in cloudy pieces that would not quite drift all the way together, but she was most certainly lucid, and she knew that Jane was asking because she failed to see the point of Jack. She found him boring. "Well," the doctor began to phrase carefully, "he is smart. And he's very thoughtful. And he and I have a lot in common."

Jane snorted. She pulled out onto the road, grateful for the green left turn arrow that appeared right as she needed it. "Not what I meant, Maura."

"What did you mean, then?" Oh, Maura knew. But Jane had promised to be more forthright tonight, and it was fun to make her be so.

"I meant the sex. He's kind of dopey," Jane said, stunning the woman next to her. The way she leaned against the back of her seat, driving with one hand, the moon flashing against her slender face in beats, on and off, on and off, the way the words fell out of her throat and tumbled through a Cold Cock voice into the car's cabin – it was captivating. "Not that that's… I dunno, I don't mean it negatively-"

"Yes, you do," Maura cut in, smirking with all the mischief an honorary Rizzoli should have. "But keep going."

"He's…. nice. But that can't translate to much…. Excitement in the bedroom," Jane explained, bolstered by the pleasant toxins in her capillaries. They pulled up to her apartment, and Maura didn't have the heart to remind her friend that she had been picked up this morning, and her car was not here.

"Well, you might be surprised. The sex is actually very good," she said as Jane closed her car door behind her and walked her up the front steps of her building. The hand at the small of her back felt good, simply put. It was slender and warm, like a Jane-microcosm.

"I am surprised that he's good," the voice was full and wet, however. Maura shivered. "But I guess appearances aren't everything."

Clearly, the tone, the mood, had shifted. Jane climbed the stairs to her place steadily, but slowly, measuredly. She was _so_ close. Their shoulders touched. Maura flushed. _Intoxication_. "I never said that he was good."

"Uh, yes you did," said Jane in a laugh. Her Greek face turned to her friend's and the corners of her eyes crinkled. The dim light of the purgatory between the staircase and the second floor's hallway gave her a shadow mask. It played wonderfully against the glint in her pupils.

"No, I said the sex was good," Maura replied, stopping to smooth an imaginary imperfection at the intersection of the detective's temple and hairline.

When they stood outside the door to condominium 12, Jane spoke again. "Same thing."

"No, it isn't, Jane Rizzoli. He's actually not very remarkable, but I haven't had bad sex since I was in college. Would you like to know why?" Maura answered, with bite. She turned full into Jane's front, so that her back was to the door, nearly against it. Jane hovered close.

"Do tell," was the response.

"Because I am very good at sex. I make sure that it is never bad. I make sure that my needs are taken care of."

"Well, that sounds a little lonely," said Detective Rizzoli. Definitely in Detective Rizzoli's voice. The urge to rest her head against Maura's was immense. Maura experienced a baser urge right between her Ilia.

"Maybe to you it does. But I get what I want, when I want. And all I have to do is put in a little work to make sure I'm… satisfied. Every time." She gulped, but not out of fear, anxiety, or an unsureness. Mostly out of the sudden thirst occupying her pharynx.

And maybe a little dizziness when Jane's arm brushed her side to get to the lock. She turned the key, but didn't push it open.

"Maura. It takes two," she offered, simply. "And it's not…"

A kiss.

"a." another kiss.

"formula." Their lips lingered together, breaths compounding like a fog.

So this was where they were headed. Maura splayed a hand against the belly nearly up against her own. "I beg to differ," she said. No protest, no qualms. She did say that she got what she wanted from whom she wanted – and Jane was looking more and more, in the colored glasses of drunkenness, like someone she desired. "Are you going to try and prove to me otherwise?"

"Hmm," laughed Jane again, this time into the lips of the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. She pushed the both of them into her living room.

They kissed more. With hunger. Maura tasted the hops on her friend's tongue, and wrapped her arms around her for good measure. She attempted to move them to the couch, but the other woman was having none of it. They tumbled back through the hall towards the bedroom, with Jane shutting the door firmly before the tiny clack of canine paws could interrupt them.

Jane communicated intent, suremindedness, but Maura was high, reeling. She laughed, and it broke their tongues' togetherness. She suddenly ached at the loss, and made up for it by uniting their lips in another kiss. This shifted the pleasantness from between her legs to the middle of her thoracic spine – a different stimulation, one she usually got from when Jane went grocery shopping for her or fixed her plumbing. It was a sensation she wanted to file away for later, but it was too good. She needed to step away to terminate it, to think about it.

"Second thoughts?" Jane asked, allowing the separation, but anchoring Maura with a hand to her hip. Maura marveled how her best friend could make a dangerous voice, rough and crackly, sound so safe.

But second thoughts were furthest from her mind. "Not at all. Is that bad?"

Jane continued rubbing a thumb over the cloth under her hand. "Yeah. I'm intoxicated, but not wasted. You have a man. And the sex is good, remember?"

Maura gave this some thought. She did like Jack, but she couldn't bring herself to halt what was happening between them. Jane would have to. "You're stopping us?"

"Hell no. I still have some things to prove." This was punctuated by the traveling of a dress zipper downward. Blood slithered down with it, until they both met at Maura's middle.

This was enough for her. "Ok."

Jane smirked; the devil inhabited it. "Ok?"

For the first time that night, Maura needed what they were doing. When the fabric of her dress whispered over her skin and fluttered to the floor, and she stood in nothing but black lingerie, she walked into Jane. A few moments before, it had been a game, a way to pass the time: now it was a fun necessity, as she felt her hypothalamus take the wheel. The assault on her nose of the detective's sweat and perfume was immediate. She was engulfed in a hug – the most erotic hug in her life.

As far as they were both concerned, the time for stalling had ceased. Happiness tinged the doctor's cheeks, reddening them: being close to Jane in any capacity made her happy; being close to Jane in this capacity made her giddy.

Her best friend stretched out of a t shirt and let killer instincts take over. Suddenly, an Italian mouth dragged its tongue over her hot abdominal skin, a veritable Mt. Etna creating wet islands everywhere it went, creating Sicilian sounds in Maura's mouth. Vowels erupted through whimpers, whimpers like little puffs of smoke signaling something _big_.

The sight of it all should have been framed and mounted on her wall; Detective Jane Rizzoli, t-shirt missing, still strapped with gun and badge, kneeling, licking her. Only the bedside lamp illuminated the scene, and Maura's pale hands looked positively… contrarian tangled up in her friend's obsidian hair. And as a firm, everyday witness of the attraction between opposites, she felt woozy with anticipation. _Time to take the reins._

Maura's motor cortex issued the decree to push the head in her grasp lower, but it never made it to her fingers. Jane intercepted it, grabbing her wrist, and rose to hover just inches from her. The heat from her body reminded Maura of their softball practice just a few days earlier: _lean muscle tissue burns more just by existing._

According to this principle, Jane was on fire. She took that fire as a challenge and offered up a bad girl smile of her own, hoping to coerce. It was something that Jack never was able to resist. But the Italian didn't budge, didn't return to her previous place of worship. Her eyes, black with intent, just searched the doctor until Maura's hands found purchase at a utilitarian belt buckle.

The metal click caused them both to suck in air, a nail in the coffin of sorts, a no turning back, and Maura pulled the two ends apart, surer than ever that she wanted this. She paused for a moment after unbuttoning and unzipping black slacks, and just held everything up by the belt. With the weight of the firearm on one side and the shield on the other, there was a delightful heaviness in her hands, like she held all of what made Jane _Jane._

It was a kissworthy sensation, so she rose on her toes to catch sculpted lips with her own. Maybe her friend was right about the twoness of sex, at least in this regard; she was aroused by taking comfort in knowing someone so well. She struggled to remember a time she cradled Jack's _essence_ in her palms.

Jane kissed back, dipping her tongue into it, careful to not leave teeth behind. She snaked one hand behind Maura's back and grabbed her bra's clasp, and when it popped in release, Maura felt the curl of lips against her own.

With a theatrical gasp, the pathologist pulled away and dropped the leather in her hands. Everything thudded to the ground. Though she meant it as a joke, the heavy sound of it puddled somewhere low below her stomach. Jane waggled her eyebrows with complete Rizzoli confidence when Maura looked down at her black boy shorts and gulped. The medical examiner couldn't count the times she had seen the other woman's thighs, but it had never been in any context remotely resembling this one. Now, she was _supposed_ to look.

That made everything in here _real_. And suddenly, she sweated with arousal. Standing in the dim light of Jane's room, breasts exposed to the warm air and a detective's stare, she ran hurried eyes over the taller woman's legs. Dark, underwear darker, black pants the darkest and a puddle at Jane's feet, she wasn't sure there would ever be anything sexier than the way they hovered near one another. The lightness, paleness of her skin, and the dusk of her counterpart's, the juxtaposition made the breath shared between them charged and wet.

"You are always a little wild," Maura said, anything to break the moment's weight, "but tonight you're near feral." She pulled Jane closer to her by wrapping two fingers in the front hem of her boyshorts and tugging.

Jane contemplated resisting the conquer. Instead she undermined it by leaning forward – and nipping her friend's lips with practiced ease. The ensuing shudder told her that she had made the right decision. "And let me guess," she whispered, teeth still searching as she paused, "you want to be the one to tame me?" She knew she was being obtuse, but hearing Maura's answer would be a confirmation of the worthwhile nature of their sin – one last tug on the safety belt before the drop.

"God, no, not tame. Where's the fun in that? _Ride_ would be a better verb," answered Maura. Those two occupied fingers hooked, pulling, exposing more skin to the sparse light.

"Uh-uh. It's gonna be a little more of a tango than a recital, Dr. Isles," Jane chuckled. "I think you just want to do what you do – solo your way to a happy ending. But let me promise you that you're not gonna want to do that again after tonight."

That gravelly register and the way Jane said 'tonight' rendered Maura supple, pliant – something she was not used to being, not in this environment. "You want to know what I think? I think that you just want what you can't have, Detective," her voice, deeper to accommodate the flush of arousal and competitiveness, felt familiar to her. It was the one she used in every bedroom she had sex in. The subsequent gasp, unintended as the result of being tugged flush against her friend's Mediterranean body, was entirely foreign.

Jane, mouth now not against lips but the shell of an ear, growled, "all that one-sided fucking, those men? All practice for me, Maura."

That infuriated the doctor. It also sent her limbic system into an overheated tailspin. Jane kissed her, lips leaving sloppy evidence of just how little of a fuck she gave about cleanliness, propriety, and demure lovemaking. Maura couldn't agree more with the sentiment, but the driver of the proverbial car should not be the one who had had maybe six or so sexual partners and who was allergic to the one night stand. It should be her, practiced, knowing, liberated. How dare Jane insinuate that this one night, this one moment, passionate, relieving, hot as it was, predicated all of her other encounters? That this would be the most memorable? A lesson was in order, and as a professor herself, who more qualified to give it? She shoved the other woman on her back and onto the unmade bed.

Jane grunted, then she smirked. Maura's power play shone all too bright in the poor lighting of her condo. If the doctor were so hell bent, then the detective supposed she could comply for a while.

Maura, for all her talk of Jane's wildness, met the cop's gaze with a positively predatory glint in her own. She mirrored Jane's previous licking, the abdomen under her tongue, its peaks and valleys, causing a certain lubrication under her own lace thong. She wasted no time reaching down and pulling away the last bit of fabric between her lips and their goal, and setting to work.

Jane growled again, unable to help herself. _God damn_ , Maura really did know what she was doing, licking, sucking, kissing, and humming her to oblivion. Surgeon's hands grasped at her hips. She writhed at every rhythmic pulse against her, expert in their execution.

In minutes she was finished. As she shuddered severely in her release, she felt the smug smirk at her thigh, a sign of perceived victory.

Little did Maura know, it would be the last feeling of security of the night for her. Never, though, would danger feel so good again.

"Alright, tiger, you've had your fun," said Jane, flipping so that she could crawl on top of Maura. "you ready to begin for real?"

The medical examiner grasped at her friend's sides, desperate for touch, unwilling to vocalize the need that loving Jane had awakened in her. It was frenzied, it bubbled just below the surface, ached to be released at the feeling of a body on top of hers. Only the rough movement of Jane's bra against her nipple brought her any sense of grounding in reality. It broke the hold, the haze, even if only for that moment.

Jane would not allow it for any longer. She unhooked her bra, throwing it to the floor, touching her forehead to the auburn-headed woman below her when a set of green eyes wandered to what remained in its wake. Maura was forced to look back at her by the tender ferocity in brown irises. "No clothes. None."

Thankfully, after her assertion, the detective slithered down Maura's body, giving her a reprieve from the intensity of it all. That reprieve was short lived when Maura felt teeth scrape the skin of her hip, and heard the _swish_ of her underwear sliding against her skin.

Jesus, Jane Rizzoli was removing her thong with her teeth. _Only_ her teeth.

Things were definitely off to an explosive start.

"Jane…" said Maura. It was almost an admonition, a warning against something even she could not articulate. Jane, however, paid it no mind, her mouth and its trail downright disrespectful in their march. Disrespectful of Maura's need for control, disrespectful of her sense of timing, of perfectly parsing each instance of pleasure so that the ascent to orgasm is predictable, unstoppable.

Instead, hot breath fogged against her thigh, warping and changing, growing molten when it rolled over where she wanted those lips the most. She grabbed hair at the back of Jane's head and pushed it further forward.

But then the breathing stopped, the movement stopped.

And when Maura's gaze flew downward, crazed, frustrated, what she saw curdled her blood: Jane Rizzoli's curled eyebrow, and her head ever so slightly shaking no. What had been so close was now running farther and farther away as the detective rose back up to kiss the woman under her.

The kiss – kisses – were no doubt meant to torture. Jane worked inside of Maura's mouth the way she should have the heat between her thighs: tongue swiping, lips jutting forward, moving slow. Maura could say that she had never been kissed in this way, as a prelude. She fought back, bit back, called for a match between the two of them, but Jane insisted on love rather than war.

And when Maura attempted to sit up, to take control, to grab Jane's face and move it down, Jane grabbed her, snatching their bodies flush together - naked for the first time. Again the doctor marveled at her friend's kinesthetic art form: those fingers against her back splayed in just a way that when they shifted, each mirrored part of them slid sweatily into and against each other.

She felt the crisp sheets that locked the two of them together, and shifted to sit in the detective's lap, grinding against anything that might speed up her pleasure process.

Jane cupped her as soon as she tried; a middle finger dragged slowly along the length of her wetness, and she cried out.

"Fuck…" groaned Maura, and Jane chuckled at the sentiment. "Keep doing that."

Jane flipped her on her back, entered her swiftly, and went to work that way instead.

"Jesus Christ, Jane," Maura shrieked, shivering at the mendacity of each stroke. _This_ was what she needed. Her orgasm was building, steadily, and she shifted to search out the perfect angle, grabbed Jane's arm to change her position. Of course, Jane, understanding what her friend sought, altered her course then, adding a third finger and started to curl instead of pump.

Something Maura hadn't considered.

Something that turned Maura into a boneless heap, capable only of running hands all over the back on top of her, of grasping when she felt herself about to burst, of kissing Jane with her eyes open to see a deferent tenderness in her face that she hadn't experienced in a lover since she could remember.

Then she let go.


	4. Chapter 4

Maura had never called a cab to Jane's apartment before. However, here she was, at five-thirty AM, sitting on the edge of her best friend's bed in a fresh change of clothes she kept there, watching her sleep, waiting for said cab to arrive.

Jane, when she did sleep, always slept soundly, and this morning was no exception – she was wrapped up in bed sheets, feet exposed, tan shoulders moving ever so slightly with her face-down inhales and exhales. She didn't wake when Maura had spent the last hour getting ready, though Maura half hoped that she would; she didn't wake when Maura's behind dipped into the mattress or when Maura's hand stroked the top of her foot, thumb brushing over her toes. The medical examiner sighed at the warmth under her fingers because Jane always ran hot. It was distinctly Jane. That heat had slid over her body over and over the night before, and she'd only gotten three hours of sleep.

Not that she had to wake, of course, there was no need to be so frazzled. The way Jane looked at her while she was on top of her, she knew she'd always be welcome here, no matter what. But she felt exposed, raw, wanting still. Her body was a live wire, and there was the pleasant ache of recent and heavy release between her legs. Jane rested in peace, however, ever her opposite. She slept in the windswept chaos of her bedclothes with her wild hair strewn about, centered, without a wrinkle of worry on her face. Maura wasn't sure she'd ever felt so lost in a navy slacks/floral blouse combo as immaculate as she wore now. Here _she_ sat, showered and perfumed, hair perfectly styled, and yet stormy inside.

Looking at Jane distressed her further. So, she rose, figured she'd do the rest of her waiting away from the woman. She took great care to reduce the clack of her open toed heels on the hardwood floor, and when she reached the kitchen mat under the sink, she felt grateful for its absorption of sound. She washed her hands, started the Keurig, and gathered some ice from the refrigerator into a tumbler for the iced coffee she prepared to leave for Jane. Jane, who would never admit to anyone that she liked iced coffee when the weather was stifling, Jane who would make a hot cup before leaving for the station to save face, Jane who would venture down to the morgue to thank her when she thought no one would see or hear. Jane, the woman with whom she had just cheated on Jack. Not just a woman, but also her best friend, her lifeline, her everything. Did she have to be so damned good at fucking, too, even after all that? She felt her phone buzz; the cab had arrived. She stuck the tumbler in the fridge, left a note on the counter, then turned to head out the door.

Jane stood in the hallway's mouth, in boxer briefs and a sports bra, hair clearly just thrown back by her hand. She seemed not even to register the shock she gave the medical examiner. "You gonna leave without saying goodbye?" She asked, shuffling toward Maura with a sleepy gait.

The doctor cursed herself for not hearing Jane get up and get dressed, and for the way her body heated up at the way the detective hovered just inches from her. "I… you were sleeping, Jane," she whispered against the corner of Jane's mouth, her eyes darting down to those lips and her blood surging with burgeoning confusion. Molten confusion.

"So? You always say goodbye," Jane said, in a tone that might have been pouty if it were coming from a lesser person.

"We never have sex, Jane, before I leave," Maura responded. She couldn't help the snap that infused her words. Immediately she regretted it. Jane apparently paid it no mind, because she pulled Maura to her, and then they were flush again.

"Maura, it's still true," she gruffed, sounding annoyed but with eyes that glinted with understanding.

"What?" Maura asked. Her hands rested against Jane's shoulders, and she told herself it was so that she could keep her distance.

"It's still true that you always say goodbye."

"I know," the shorter woman responded, wincing at the herculean effort required to pull back from Jane's kiss attempt. She placed a finger on her lips instead, and shuddered at the wet feeling that brought back all kinds of salacious muscle memory. "And I… I need some time, ok? I need some time to think."

Jane nodded, her arms sliding to her side, not in disappointment, but in acquiescence. "'Course." She smiled, something dazzling to behold.

The other woman couldn't talk about it anymore. "There's coffee in the refrigerator for you; have a good day." With that, she left to her cab.

* * *

Maura was also unused to seeing Jack standing at her front door from this angle, with her being the one walking up the brick path from the driveway. He was dressed in a black sweater and gray slacks, his usual colors for a midterm day. He smiled at the sight of her and she tried to mirror it.

"You're here very early, Dr. Armstrong," she called out. "What's the occasion?"

"Hey you," he said, turning to face her, "where did you go? I brought you coffee and donuts. And I'm early because I need to make an ungodly amount of copies this morning. And whenever I need to make an ungodly amount of copies, the department copier usually malfunctions." He held up the drink tray and bag, hands too full to use his key.

Maura didn't have the heart to tell him again that she didn't really eat donuts or drink the donut shop's coffee, but she also didn't have the strength to applaud his misguided thoughtfulness, so she settled for kissing his cheek before moving past him to open the front door. "Jane and I went out for drinks after work last night, and I didn't feel comfortable with her driving me all the way home, so I stayed the night," she called out into her home, dropping her keys on the kitchen counter. She walked to the refrigerator to fix herself some Greek yogurt, and pulled out her homemade creamer and some stevia to doctor the cup that her boyfriend had brought her. She was so tired that her half-truth didn't even really faze her.

"You let her drive at all?" Jack questioned, one of his eyebrows curling up in inquisition. He crossed his arms and leaned up against the island, perhaps more fatherly than he meant.

"Yes, because I knew she wasn't going to hurt us, but I also didn't want to risk anything by having her drive further," Maura snapped again. Apparently that was a trend this morning. She just wanted to be alone with her thoughts. "I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't get much sleep last night…"

His face softened and he went to hug her. She inhaled his cologne and allowed it to make her feel safe. "Aw, well, you should have called me. I could have picked you up and we could have spent the night together instead." He smiled on the top of her head, and she felt the smug curl of it.

Again, she had neither the heart nor the patience to explain that everything he had ever done to her paled in comparison to the night before. So, she said nothing, just patted his back and waved goodbye to him when he left for work. She dumped her coffee and donuts, picked at her yogurt, and when it was time for her to leave, she resisted texting Jane that she was on her way.

* * *

"You look tired, baby. You eat this morning?" Angela Rizzoli asked of her daughter as she entered the Division One Café. She wiped down the front counter with a white washrag, and at seven thirty in the morning, not many patrons occupied the tables, leaving her available to prepare for the day.

"Nah, just some coffee," Jane replied. She shook out her arms in an attempt to wake up, and her mother handed her a paper cup to fill while she started on breakfast. She spaced as the hot liquid filled her cup and its aroma her nostrils, eyes trained on the front entrance of the Boston Police Department, but mind in her bed about ten hours before.

Fuck.

They certainly didn't hold back. Maura wasn't the first woman she'd had sex with, though it had been awhile. But, Maura was _Maura._ Whatever that meant. It had started with the woman just makin' her a little mad with all that _I do all the work_ talk. She wanted to prove a point, to introduce scientific Dr. Isles to the one thing that couldn't just be calculated. Her hand became heavy with the full coffee cup, however, so she decided to shelve the dissection of that particular emotion for another time when pancakes were not awaiting her.

In the early morning hours of the summer New England day, before the café even officially opened to the public, Detective Rizzoli took a seat at one of the high tables and blew the steam from the top of her cup. Her eyes weren't droopy, though they should have been, propped open only by the caffeine in her bloodstream. The tiredness that her Ma noted in her appearance seeped into her muscles, and she slumped in her chair, her deep purple button up stretching across her strong back. She felt the twinge of a bruise near her side, where Maura's hands had been; the memory of its source suffused her skin with color.

"You always had such terrible posture, Janie, the worst out of the three of you… until Frankie hit puberty," said Angela, plate of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and potatoes in her hand. Her daughter's eyes ballooned in anticipation of the food, then narrowed at the nagging.

"You could act like a normal parent and just tell me to sit up straight, Ma," Jane responded. She snatched the fork from her mother's fingers and spread the accompanying napkin across her lap. Despite her earlier comment, Angela smiled at the habit, a relic from all of Jane's visits to her grandmother's home. A brief memory overtook her, one of her mother and Jane sitting at the table, her mother laughing, Jane's face covered in carbonara and napkin still sitting pristine on her lap.

It made her smile, and she smooched the side of her now-grown daughter's head. The sound was loud and sloppy, the perfect auditory representation of their love. "I love you, Jane. I wouldn't trade you for anything, terrible posture and all," said Angela, placing the heaping plate of food in front of the younger Rizzoli.

"Thanks," said Jane, her own quiet smile lighting up her face, and she chuckled at her mother's impatient foot-tapping. "I love you, too, Ma," she responded finally.

In their banter, both had missed Maura shuffling into the café. All for the better, perhaps, because she could swear she was walking differently this morning, and she was hesitant to chalk it all up to exhaustion. She had come in for some tea, but as soon as she saw Jane there with her mother, separate but equal parts of her wanted to rush over and rush away to the safe hallows of her office. The latter won out as she moved to retreat, but as always, Angela Rizzoli soon saw her, making no hesitation to include her. It was the first time Maura ever cursed this fact, and she thought that she never would.

"Maura, honey! You're in early!" Angela exclaimed. She bustled over to the counter and started on Maura's order without confirmation.

The doctor was silently thankful: that meant there was less she had to say. She wasn't sure what her voice would sound like this early, this nervous, and this sleep deprived. She just nodded when Angela handed her cup of tea.

"Rough night?" The older woman pried. Her words had no malice, just pure nosiness, but there was a glint in her eye, the conspiratorial one that usually found its way there when they spoke of nighttime activities that would embarrass Jane to think about.

Often Maura liked these conversations they had, because she couldn't have them with Jane, and Angela was understanding, kind, and a gossip. Now, however, she sputtered. "Uh, no, well, yes. I… I didn't sleep very well. I figured I might as well make it as productive a day as possible since I obviously wouldn't find any reprieve in my bed."

The matriarch's features passed from amused to concerned in an instant. "Are you alright? You don't usually have trouble sleeping. I can make you this basil tea that my grandmother gave us if we ever had insomnia. I don't know the science behind it, but it was always relaxing."

"I think I would like that," said Maura, relaxation sounding like heaven after the past few hours of mental back and forth. "Maybe tonight?"

"Of course," Angela replied. "Go sit with Jane. I'm sure she would like your company." It was the woman's subtle clue-in that she needed to get back to work.

Maura almost ignored her completely and turned to go downstairs. But she saw Jane's face, smooth and angular all at once, her eyes dark and wild in color, but welcoming in sentiment. She wanted to explore those lips again, in the daylight, when she could see them redden after she pulled away. She wanted to hear her name on them in the sun, stand in the light so that Jane could admire her corporeal handiwork. Jane did always love to take a step back and take pride in what she'd done. How would the flush across Maura's chest as a result of her Mediterranean burr be any different?

Needless to say, she walked over to her friend and stood near her. But, she didn't sit. A few silent seconds were volleyed between them until she decided to speak. "You have more than enough carbs on your plate for the whole day."

"Mornin' to you too. See, I did a lotta work yesterday, so I need the energy," replied Jane around a bite of eggs and potatoes.

Leave it to Jane to throw everything out onto the table when Maura was nowhere near ready to deal with it. However, the competitor in her refused to refuse any contact with the detective. She needed to show her that, even if just for a little bit, she could keep up. "It was good work, Detective Rizzoli."

"Was it?" Jane smiled indulgently, and Maura rolled her tired, tired eyes.

"Best I've seen in a long while, maybe ever," she said, and the comment ballooned Jane's pupils as her mouth morphed into a hard line. She swallowed. "But don't come to the morgue today. Respect my wishes."

It had taken an act of God to keep her so calm, so cheeky just then. It worked, too, because Jane's gaze followed her ass all the way to the elevator.

* * *

 **A/N: Are you all enjoying the frequent updates? Expect it to continue :). So, is people calling Jack 'jackass' like an actual thing? Because I'm sensing a theme among the reviews. Speaking of, to those of you who are reviewing, thank you. I appreciate it. You make it worth doing!**


	5. Chapter 5

They caught a body around one in the afternoon. Old man on a park bench, dirty, dingy clothes, the stench of hard liquor, all things which pointed to alcohol poisoning, something routine. The bruises on his arms and legs were what warranted a visit by homicide in the heat of midday, and Jane had removed her sticky blazer before striding towards Maura and Korsak, who gathered at the bench.

"This what it looks like?" she pointed to the deceased.

"I wanna say yes but nothing in this job is ever what it looks like," said the sergeant. Even he had loosened his tie in the wavy humidity.

"Whatcha got, Maura?" Jane offered to the doctor, a softball toss after the curveball she threw at the café. Not that she didn't hang that curveball and not that her friend didn't knock it out of the park.

Maura had knelt down to survey the hematomas on the man's calves, but when she heard her name spill into the air, she couldn't help where her eyes moved next. Jane did the _thing_ , as she called it – an anomaly in her usual precise vocabulary, but she shivered with what she now knew as arousal when that tiny, non-specific word entered her mind. The _thing_ was as such: Jane, legs slung apart, wide enough to be cocky, one hip a little lower than the other, her elbows resting on the tools on her belt, face carved sinister with deduction. Maura wondered, especially on this day, at how devilish Jane's justice made her seem. "Basically only what you see, Detective Rizzoli," she husked. She moved closer to those long legs on the pretense of switching the side that she examined. Jane allowed it, shifting to peer over at the man's open mouth and damp clothes, bringing them almost to touch. Korsak peered at them, unsure what to make of it all, but certain that _something_ needed to be made of it.

"So, nothing?" Jane finally said, holding out her hand for Maura to take.

"Nothing yet, but we've been over this, Jane. In due time, you'll have your answer. I always deliver," responded Maura. Now at her full height in heels, She stood only two inches below her friend, and about four inches apart from her. She breathed the air tinged with the smell of Jane's afternoon coffee, just finished no doubt in the cruiser before she arrived. She caught her gaze wavering between the detective's eyes and mouth, and Jane knew it - she smiled the kind of smile that said _I am irresistible, but I am a kind addiction to have._

Maura simpered back, a little irked by the audacity she previously had so loved. And who was she kidding? Most of her still loved it, the way it made Jane taller, broader, stronger. It was just that small part of her that needed to process that didn't appreciate it.

 _Ah-ha,_ was Vince Korsak's internal monologue as Frankie Rizzoli showed up with water bottles for everyone. "They been like that all day?" asked Jane's younger brother, handing an Aquafina to his superior.

"I mean they've been like that for the past five years, but never like… _this,_ " The sergeant motioned to the two women with the water bottle. "You don't think…?"

"They finally…? Nah, Maura's with Jack," said Frankie, his naïveté more than a little forced. Part of him held out for Maura as long as Jane wasn't in the picture. If she was, hell, he knew he didn't have a chance.

"Oh, like that's stopped anyone before," said Korsak. "For a detective, you got a lot to learn, kid."

* * *

"I can't do it no more, Maura," Jane said, the statement whooshing out of her, just like the doors to the autopsy suite as she blew past them. The medical examiner, in black scrubs and full body covering, looked up and through her goggles in confusion.

"Didn't I tell you not to be here? I mean really, I know you're an impatient person and you want these results, and god help me, I even love that about you. But when you disrespect my wishes so blatant-"

A kiss cut her off. It consumed her with memory of the night before, when she and Jane were together in the oldest sense. She felt her body become pliant in its search for another, and that caused her to push Jane away with her unbloodied wrists. It was a halfhearted attempt at best, and her lips stuck to her friend's long seconds after.

"That's what I couldn't wait for. Not the damn autopsy. Can _it_ wait for a second? We need to talk," Jane motioned to the body on the table with her head.

Maura nodded, slipping off her autopsy protection and motioning the both of them toward her office. Jane widened her walk, drawn to the doctor's authoritative demeanor here in the morgue, wanting to draw right back.

"I would really appreciate more than a few hours, Jane," Maura sighed when she clicked the door shut. It was not a _go away_ , more like a _I know this needs to happen, and the quicker the better, but I still don't like it._

"I can't, Maura, I'm dyin' inside here," Jane said. Her voice was hoarse, and Maura knew that meant that, unlike for most others whose hoarseness denoted exhaustion or crying, Jane felt shame. She supposed she was about to find out why.

"You seemed ready to give me all the time I needed before I left this morning," she countered.

"I know, but I was more than half-asleep," Jane reasoned. Her eyes followed Maura's body, leaning against the front of her desk. She moved to step closer, but thought better of it.

Apparently it didn't matter, because as soon as Maura saw the hesitation, she made the move to bring them close. "Something's bothering you," she stated, now in her work shoes, so she had to look up into Jane's eyes while she put hands on her biceps. It was sincere; her friend, no matter how complicated that relationship had become, stood here now, in pain. At the touch, the detective swallowed hard again, and then there was more shame on her features.

"You think?" Jane chuckled dryly. She didn't touch back.

Suddenly Maura panicked at the fact. "Do you really feel that embarrassed about what we did?" the bite in her tone didn't budge the other woman, however.

"Are you kidding? Hell no. I'm torn up about the fact that you and I committed adultery."

This gave Maura pause. The togetherness implied by the statement shook her with arousal, but it was far from the explanation that she was expecting, and it was muddling in its semantic inaccuracy. "Jack isn't my husband," she clarified, more aloud for herself than for Jane. "And he's _my_ boyfriend, not yours. I'd be the one committing anything. But that doesn't even matter."

"You think anything about last night wasn't about the two of us?" Jane asked, incredulous. She was shocked all over again when she recovered enough to realize the implications of her friend's previous statement. "Wait. Wait a minute here. The cheating doesn't matter?"

"Clearly it does to you," Maura offered. She watched Jane run through a million different physical reactions before settling on just stillness.

"You mean, that isn't what you've been upset about this whole time?" Detective Rizzoli softened to a near-whisper.

"Not that it doesn't matter; of course it does. But no," exhaled Maura, with a brief close of her eyes to allow for some distance. The smell of sweat and lavender proved too much to overcome.

"Then what is it?"

"It doesn't, I don't know, scare you?" Maura asked, putting a palm on her flushed forehead.

"Does what scare me?" Jane inquired. Her frustration bled through; she stayed rigid with tension.

"Last night! What happened! What we did!" Maura exclaimed. She moved away from Jane and started to pace the rug on her office floor.

"We had sex Maura. It was good. Intense, yeah, but not scary," Jane replied, turning to look at her. "What's got you so freaked about it?"

Maura stopped, but didn't turn around; instead she faced the closed door. Her voice was small. "I… I've never done anything like that before."

"C'mon, Maur. The way you were last night, you can't tell me you've never slept with a woman. We both know it'd be a lie, and you can't lie. Not convincingly."

"No, of course I have. And maybe my statement wasn't entirely accurate. But, I've never… I've never _been_ done like that before. Like it was," she turned around again, so that Jane could at least see her, "like our life's work was bound up in each other, and the culmination of everything was so back and forth, so intuitive, that I don't know how I'll go back to the way it was before."

Jane walked towards her then and wrapped her in a one-armed hug, chin on head. "I told you, didn't I." It was a statement and though there was no laugh in her voice Maura understood the gentle chiding in the statement.

She chuckled for the both of them. "You didn't do a damn thing I asked, Detective," she said into Jane's shoulder, admonishingly. She felt the smugness radiate from the body around her.

"I listened to your body. It's not too hard when you know someone as well as I know you," Jane replied.

"Mmm. I can appreciate that," Maura said, lingering in the warmth.

"So what're we gonna do about Jack?" the detective asked with a certain amount of nonchalance.

Maura went rigid. How had she really not seen _that_ coming? "What?" she pulled back.

"Jack. You remember him?"

"What do you mean, 'what are we going to do about him'?"

"Ok, Maura, I get it. He's your boyfriend, not mine. When are you going to tell him?" Jane asked, impatiently tapping her foot, but not letting Maura go.

 _Shit._ "I… hadn't planned on telling him anything."

It was Jane's turn to stiffen in disbelief.

* * *

 **A/n: Thank you to all of you who have read and reviewed! It's clear that most of you dislike Jack, lol. I will say he is going to be around for awhile (though not in a sexual sense), so if that isn't your thing, you might want to back out now. Also, to the anon who said they hate fics where Jane drives drunk, I don't know what to tell ya. I mean, you are totally entitled to hate my story and never read it again. But, human beings are complex things, and that includes the police. Cops don't suddenly become paragons of integrity and good decision-making just because they're cops.**

 **Anyway, in my opinion, we're about to get to the juicy stuff :) Continue to let me know how you feel about it!**


	6. Chapter 6

" _I… hadn't planned on telling him anything."_

 _"So… you're staying with him?"_

 _"I don't know if I am or not… that was the point of me taking time. Which I still need, by the way."_

 _"Of… of course."_

That conversation had ended with Jane backtracking out of the morgue and slinking back up to homicide, Maura not having the guts to call after her. It was shortly followed by a call from her mother, saying that she needed Jane to come look at the kitchen sink in the guest house, as it had been backing up for awhile now. _I need it done ASAP, Janie,_ she had said, to which Jane had replied, _yeah, yeah._

That was over a week ago, and Maura had hardly seen Jane in that time, let alone talked to her. To be fair, she was the one that had asked for time. She had sure as hell gotten it, in patented Rizzoli spades. They would burst into your life like a tornado, but as soon as they got any kind of inkling that you didn't want them around, they had a silent treatment to rival Tibetan monks. And it wasn't that she didn't want Jane around –far from it. But she didn't exactly want to exile Jack, either, Jack who sat with her on this Saturday afternoon. They drank tea and talked about the class they were planning to pitch to the university: something about the relationship between engineering and forensics that they had yet to name.

"It'll be cross-referenced, for sure, but we have to create a mock-syllabus that will convince the dean that it's a class worth having. Which means it has to meet graduation requirements. So… should we start on that?" Jack asked. He sipped his mug thoughtfully, and looked at the spread of papers in front of them on the coffee table.

"Both the engineering and forensic sciences are vital to the university's curriculum, so it shouldn't be a problem. Should I pull up the current requirement lists for each major?" Maura replied, patting his knee.

"Perfect," he said as he smiled full and warm.

They shared a comfortable silence until the rattle of keys in the front door jostled them. Maura knew Angela hadn't left the guesthouse all morning, so it had to be one of her three children, since Jack, the only other one with a key, was seated just a foot or so away from her on the sofa.

She actually would have bet against it being Jane, but oh how wrong she would have been. She'd never felt so glad to be erroneous.

Jane walked in in a pair of worn, dirty slim jeans, and a pair of women's work boots that had probably seen the better part of twenty years. The gray 'Rizzoli & Sons' t-shirt on her back had been cut from sleeve to bottom hem on each side, revealing most of her tanned, toned torso, and a black sports bra. Her pulled back hair, tightly swept up into a ponytail, swished with her effort: in one hand, she hauled a five-gallon bucket full of various things, clearly heavy, and it summoned her biceps and triceps to ripple under the skin of that arm.

All of these things, enticing as they were, occupied Maura for only the briefest of moments. The rest of the many she spent with her lips parted and her hand to her chest (which would have been quite comical to Jane if she weren't busy moving more things that from outside into the paint-spackled white bucket) were devoted to staring at the hefty toolbelt slung around the detective's hips.

"Jane! I didn't know you were coming over!" said Jack, standing as well, attempting to cover Maura's bad manners and managing to infuse some of his disappointment at her arrival in his cordiality. "Let me help you; I got that bucket."

"No, I can take care of it. I used to work with my Dad back in the day to help pay for academy, so this is old hat for me. But thanks," said Jane. She wore her insincere smile, one that seemed professional, kind, but bled sarcasm if you knew her well enough.

Maura did. "What… what _are_ you doing here, Jane?" she asked, surprised to see the other woman after the week of silence she'd just endured.

"Ma wanted me to fix the kitchen sink. Guess it won't drain? And apparently her toilet's out," the detective replied, distracted by her last mental inventory of her various tools.

"And you couldn't go straight to the guest house _because_?"

" _Because_ the meter is in the side yard. And I cannot access the side yard from the guest house," Jane snarked.

"Right, of course," Maura assented, her voice rising higher and her pulse point slithering lower. Jack watched on in hurt – his effort toward inclusion had failed. Neither women noticed. "Would you like me to show you to it?"

"I can find it fine, Maura. You guys go ahead with whatever you're doing; I'll be in and out in a couple seconds. Just remember that there's no water while I'm in the guest house," Jane called as she walked out the back door and to the side yard. Maura licked her lips and smoothed some imaginary lines on her sundress.

"Maura," Jack stated after awhile, both opening a line of conversation and calling her to join him again, "I know this must be awkward since you haven't talked to her in a week. I could have helped you with that kitchen sink, you know. You can ask me to do these things."

Sitting down provided the medical examiner with a few extra seconds to calculate her response; she had suddenly become very annoyed by Jack's presence. "Jack. I didn't know about the problem in the guesthouse. And I know I can ask you for help. I'm asking you for help now, aren't I? Because you're a professor and have been one for much longer than I have. You know about petitions and weaving through the bureaucracy of the university system. Jane," she paused, hearing said woman come back into the home before using the back door to walk over to the guest house, "Jane is a plumber. That's the work she did with her father, who was a master plumber in North Boston for many years. I don't want to offend you, but I would trust her hands with these things more than I would trust yours."

Jack swallowed. "Of… of course. Want to get back to work?"

"Yes, please. Let's do that."

* * *

"You still not talkin' to Maura?" Angela Rizzoli, washrag over her shoulder, asked her daughter.

Jane, muffled by the cubby under the sink, answered a question with a question. "Who says I ain't talkin' to Maura?"

"I live with that girl, Janie. Don't play dumb with me," her mother said. She took the towel and snapped it at Jane's legs, which, along with half her torso, poked out from under the counter.

"Ouch, Ma! I just talked to her like thirty minutes ago!" Jane yelled back, having apparently banged an elbow on some sort of pipe in reaction.

"You are your father's daughter," Angela knelt down to look at her daughter's face. Inwardly, she marveled at the handiwork – the speed with which fingers removed the plumbing of the sink, the precision of water removal and diagnosis. "You look exactly like him under there, just, you know, womanly. And you know that's not what I meant."

The comparison to her father gave her pause. "What did you mean then?"

"She's moping. You know that. Jack's over almost every night." Angela commented, statements short, sure, condemning.

"So? That's her boyfriend," said Jane with more than a little venom.

"You and I both know he's boring, Jane. And he grates on her nerves after a few hours. Hell, he grates on my nerves after a few hours. It's not that he's a bad guy, it's just… ah. _Basta._ You know what I'm saying. Point is, time she would normally spending with you, her best friend, she's spending with him. She's takin' the next best company. Sound familiar?"

"Not really," said Jane distractedly as she crawled out from her workspace and dragged the trashcan from the side of the island to the sink.

"I swear to God. I don't care if you want to hear _me_ out, I really don't. But that girl's the best friend you've got. Don't push her away," Angela sighed, exasperated. She still put a hand over her daughter's sweat-soaked t-shirt back when Jane motioned her over to where she stood. "Jesus, you sweat like him, too."

Jane shook her head and chuckled, grateful that her mother was dropping the conversation she desperately wanted to avoid. "Ma, look at all this rice in the garbage disposal. You can't be doing this anymore, ok?" she scooped it out into the trash and grabbed the plumber's tape to seal the threads.

"Alright, I won't, I won't. I had to make a risotto for your Uncle Giuvaneddu's retirement party, remember? I was in a hurry and I didn't think about it. I would have called a guy but I don't have that kinda money right now," explained the matriarch. The sun filtered in and caught the color in her hair, and for a moment, Jane saw herself in the tired lines of her face.

"OK, but if it happens again, just call me, yeah? Sometimes I'm a jerk, but I really don't mind, Ma. I don't want you to have to pay for something I can do for free."

"Who said anything about free? I'm cooking you a big dinner!" Angela smiled as she spoke. They embraced, Jane cognizant of the fact that she smelled like soap and sweat and grime, but Angela caring about none of that.

"Well I won't say no to that. I'm just gonna go turn the water on, ok? I'll be back," said the younger Rizzoli before stepping out into the heat-burdened courtyard.

The courtyard that Maura had just entered behind a closing door.

Her pupils exploded at the sight of Jane there, dirty, her striking feminine body oh-so complemented by her masculine garb. The detective seemed just as rapt, watching Maura's chest heave with breath under her floral printed white dress that stopped just above the knee.

Maura went to her, stopped just short of bumping into her.

"Need somethin'?" Jane asked, not audible enough for anyone but Maura.

"Yes, I…" the shorter woman hesitated for a moment before continuing, "Jack needs to use the restroom. I told him I would come out and check on your progress."

Jane's eyes narrowed at his name. Maura's heart jumped at Jane's eyes narrowing at his name. "I'm done. I was just going back out to turn the water back on."

"So… no catastrophic leak?" the medical examiner asked.

"Nope. Thankfully the two problems were completely unrelated," replied the detective, gaze strayed to tanned, lithe, runner's legs, remembering them wrapped around her waist.

"I suppose that means you won't be needing to do any work in the main house?" Maura asked in the coyest version of disappointment she could manage. She looked down, crestfallen, and it made Jane laugh, if only to dispel the boiling just below her tool belt.

"No. Did you want me to?"

"Almost as much as I want you to talk to me again," Maura offered in a small voice. She smiled, eyes glistening at her best friend, who sighed and put her head down.

"I wanna talk to you too," Jane admitted. But, when she opened her eyes, a feral ache colored her. The emotional charge between the two of them only intensified it.

Maura finally closed the distance between their bodies, her front grazed by Jane's with each of their labored inhalations. She chalked it up to the heat, but both of them were all but doused with ice water when they heard her name called from the back door of the front house.

"Maura?" Jack tried again, until he noted them standing there, together. He either did not notice their closeness, or paid it no mind. "Maura, I'm sorry, but Ally's mom just called. She fell off her bike while out with some friends, and I'm gonna need to meet them at the ER. Sounds like she might need stitches." He held an iPhone to his chest and though he seemed to look to her for permission, Maura could tell by the sound of his voice that he was already there with them, at least in spirit. She counted her blessings.

"Of course, go. I'll talk to you later," She said hurriedly, never turning back to face him, only ducking her head to the side so that she could catch him in her periphery.

"Thanks, I'll call you. Love you. See you, Jane, " he said, but before either could respond, he was off.

"I don't know if I've just been given the divine go ahead or I'm being tempted to sin," Jane shuddered when Maura grabbed the front of her belt.

"Does it matter? I have a job in the upstairs bedroom for you. It requires immediate attention, whether it be the doing of God, Satan, or anyone in between."

At this, the detective pulled Maura flush against her, and kissed her with the intention to stun. It worked, at least long enough for her to back them up to the main house's door, and then Maura hissed when her back hit against it. Jane fumbled for the knob, wondering if making out against doors was going to happen every time they had sex. The thought that whether or not they would continue to have sex from this point forward was an unknown variable drove her to be reckless. It drove her to pick Maura up and heave all 116 pounds of her up the stairs, and finally to throw her to the mattress when they reached their destination.

Maura popped right up, however, and reached back, bringing her zipper and her dress down swishing to the floor. The air conditioning felt good on her skin; she rose up on her knees so that her face would be level with Jane's. "Would it be entirely too uncouth if I said I wanted you to keep your tool belt on?" she asked, smirking when her friend turned a deep red.

"I don't know about uncouth, but it'd be entirely too impractical," Jane laughed, however, recovering easily enough. She removed the belt and her old jeans in haste; she watched the medical examiner quickly toss away all her clothes.

"Well," said Maura, motioning for the detective to climb on top of her, "we'll have to find one more suitable for… this." A wicked grin spread across her more Doyle features as she motioned between them and Jane went red again.

"I… You…" Jane uncharacteristically stammered for a moment. "You want this to keep happening?"

Maura thought that it was the only thing sexier than her swaggering about. She lifted the t-shirt between them over her friend's head, and kissed her, open-eyed with a grin. "Don't you?" It was all Jane needed to fuel the fire, already out of control.

She wasted no time tending to the leak Maura had told her about, her tongue swiping through lower lips and saltysweet stickiness. Maura sobbed and pushed the back of her head with each lick. The rhythm was steady and yet staggering, and the medical examiner had to wrap her legs around the detective's neck, crossing her ankles on a back already slick with sweat.

Jane shuddered at the skin against her ears, velvet rubbing on her, blocking anything else out but the sound of her moving tongue and the smack of wet flesh against it. She bided her time, waited on Maura's moist voice to raise higher, an indication of her closeness to orgasm, something Jane had learned about her during those hours in her bed.

The smaller woman teetered on the precipice, about to fall, when Jane stopped.

"Fuck," she yelped, out of frustration more than anything else. Her eyes screwed shut, willing her lover back down between her thighs, but she would not return. Maura began to count back down from 100, trying to center herself, to wait it out, to hope. When she got to 87, she screamed at the feeling of fingers groping at the inside of her and the body fully on top of her. When she finally started to again reach her climax, Jane tried to travel back down, but she refused to let go.

They lay like that, thrusting and accepting, working a rhythm and matching, until Maura could take no more. She kissed Jane for what she would later reason was fear of her leaving again, but what she really knew as a feeling that had been growing between them for a long while.


	7. Chapter 7

"Maura, you gotta get better creamer," Jane, in running shorts and a sports bra, sat on the counter of the kitchen island. It was an early Saturday morning, two weeks after she and Maura had slept together for the second time, and she lifted a piping hot cup of coffee to her lips before grimacing at the taste.

"I like my homemade almond milk creamer," Maura offered simply, grabbing the pitcher of it for her own iced coffee from the fridge. She patted her still-perspiring face with the damp cloth at her neck. She was dressed much the same as Jane, though her midriff was covered by a tank top bought at her local sportswear boutique.

"Creamer should be made from _cream_ , baby girl. Not fake milk that tastes like cardboard juice," replied the detective, shivering.

"Oh, mmhmm," Maura wondered at her friend's penchant for imagery before laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. She then finally flushed at the pet name, something she had been called by Jane often and before they ever laid together, but something that, when Jane had said it to her just a few nights ago during a particularly intimate moment, set her blood to pleasantly rolling.

They had had sex almost every night in the two weeks since that afternoon. Every time Maura watched Jane's hips swing with her legs that hung off the counter's edge, she was reminded that she did in fact find a… _belt_ more suitable for their bedroom bonding time. Jane adjusted to it like only she could, all of that softball torque coming to marvelous use whenever they fell into bed. It allowed her to be more attentive with her hands, her lips. And the heavy settling of her body on top of Maura's combined with the toy between her hips? well. It did wonders for their friendship. But every time Jane finished, and wanted to talk, to share, Maura pushed her away: pretended to be sleepy, or suddenly needed to make a work call.

"What are you thinkin' about, huh?" Jane asked, smiling, her face patient and indulgent. Maura blushed.

"That I like everything about you," she admitted, the statement almost more true than the thoughts occupying her.

"Yeah? Even that I hate your coffee creamer?" the detective laughed and shoved herself off of the counter, legs wobbly, but the post-run feeling was satisfying. She walked over to Maura, making sure to stop before the flighty doctor pushed her away. Much to her pleasure, she did the opposite and wrapped her arms around her.

"My statement still stands: I like everything about you," said Maura. She laid her head on Jane's shoulder.

"Then why are we doin' this, Maura? Sneakin' around like this?" Jane asked; irritation seeped into her voice, but it didn't overpower the affection.

"Because I genuinely like Jack, Jane. He and I have been building a life together; I've chaperoned his daughter's field trips, for goodness' sake. It's not so easy to dismantle any of that."

Jane stiffened. "You don't seem to be thinking about any of that while we're fucking," her words were hard, and they caused Maura to pull back and look her full in the face.

"I don't really think of anything except how you're making me feel in those moments, Jane," Maura said seriously, as though it were obvious.

"Yeah, well, I wish you'd think about how I make you feel when we're NOT doing that. How I make you feel when we're at work, or goin' on a run, for chrissakes," the detective bit back. She removed her arms from around the other woman and looked away from her.

"Please, don't be mad at me. That's not what I need right now," Maura pleaded, placing a hand on her friend's bicep.

Jane sighed. She really couldn't resist. "I'm not mad. Just… frustrated. Sometimes I feel like you're not listening."

"I am. I'm listening. I promise," Maura assured her.

"Alright. What are you doing tonight? You wanna grab a bite? Maybe catch a movie or somethin'?"

"I've got an Isles Foundation gala I have to go to. Otherwise I would," Maura said, sadness infusing her words.

"Sounds like loads of fun."

"Oh I'm sure I would rather be anywhere else. But, my mother and father are away, and I've already agreed to go in their place."

"Ok. Well, do me a favor?"

"Of course, what do you need?"

"Think about what we've been talking about. I want to be around, Maura. I ain't gonna just up and leave. But I want an answer to it all. Just take some you-time and think about how you want me to be in your life."

"I will. I promise," with that, Maura put her head down, until Jane rubbed her back in acquiescence.

"Good. Thank you," Jane replied, and kissed Maura with a gentleness that made the medical examiner nervous. She accepted it, however, in light of how it sent a shock from her toes to her nose. "I love you, Maura. I really do."

"I love you too," Maura said, a little dazed from the words.

"I gotta go; Frankie needs my help with some paperwork. We're trying to get all his life insurance stuff in order."

Maura was further sobered by the reminder of her Rizzolis' volatile profession. She suddenly didn't want Jane to leave. "Ok. Call me later?"

"Sure," was the reply right before a shut front door. She grabbed Jane's mug, poured the little bit of coffee left down the sink drain, and went upstairs to prepare for the day.

* * *

Maura saw in Jack's face that he thought her stunning in her black Givenchy evening gown, backless and sleeveless. She knew this because his response upon seeing her was to grab her and force his mouth on hers in one of the most unpleasant kisses of her life. His mint was too strong, his aftershave burned on her lips, and his stubble scratched where she was used to feeling the softness of Jane.

But, she did appreciate his appreciation. He walked her to his car, and she sensed his arousal – no doubt piqued by her smoky eye and diamond pendant slung provocatively low. When he opened her door for her and took her hand to lower her in the cab, she watched him marvel at the stones on her wrist as well. She knew he was reminded of her wealth then, and she was grateful that it neither deterred him nor encouraged him to take advantage of her.

"You look absolutely beautiful, Maura. Really. Sometimes I forget just how hot my girlfriend is," he chuckled nervously, and Maura winced at the way he compensated for that nervousness by trying to own her in his language.

She opted for "thank you," and took his hand while he drove the short distance to the hotel where the gala was being held.

When they arrived, she was on his arm, and when familiar faces greeted her, he latched tighter. While they mingled, half the time he followed her closely behind, and the other half he spent controlling conversations with his charm. After dinner and the presentation of awards to the foundation's most generous donors, he insisted that they dance together, be seen together. After all, he said, attending events like this was going to be their future, and the sooner that Maura's colleagues got to know him (or at least his face), the better.

* * *

When they arrived back to her home, she insisted that she was too tired to stay up and told him to drive back safely before he could plead to stay.

"Hey, Sis, you bring the music?" Tommy Rizzoli stood in the doorway of his modest one bedroom apartment, baby paraphernalia scattered here and there, but it was mostly clean.

Jane held up her computer bag and a stack of CDs as she waited to be let in. "Took me awhile to dig these out of storage at Ma's, but most of it I have on my laptop. What made you want to do this, huh?"

He stepped aside and let her pass, and they looked like different angles on the same person. Tommy was the only sibling that had received their mother's brown hair, but other than that, he and his sister shared long bones, toned muscles, and killer smiles. They also shared an addictive personality; his vice alcohol, hers work. "I sold a lot of my copies of our old records when I was drinkin'," he admitted. "Some I haven't been able to find, some I haven't been able to afford."

When their parents hit a rough patch, the many times that it happened during their growing up, Frankie, Jane, and Tommy shared music. Many genres, each of them had their favorites, but they all loved to sit together and just listen. Today he had asked for the perennials; they had decided they would do the deep cuts in the following weeks. He brought out his windows laptop, she set up her Macbook, and the transfer began.

"You and Maura not hangin' out tonight? Isn't Saturday like your guys' day?" He asked, walking back from the small kitchen and to the couch, offering her a can of coke.

"Thanks, Tom, that'll hit the spot," Jane accepted gratefully and took a sip, "We went for a run this morning. She's goin' to some fancy fundraiser thing tonight, I guess."

"You didn't go with her?" Tommy asked, setting up their connection and organizing the compact discs in the order that he wanted to import them. He sat next to her on the sofa, close enough for their knees to touch.

"Nah, not my thing," Jane replied, typing away. "Well, actually, she didn't ask."

"But you woulda gone, if she asked," Tommy said, goofily, with the type of grin that made women like him, but that really just meant he was being a butthead. Jane accommodated him, though, because he was a good-natured butthead.

"Yeah, I would have," she said, tapping his arm with her knuckles.

"Remember when you got on that Jodeci kick in high school?" Tommy asked, changing the subject.

"I'm still on a Jodeci kick, little brother. Just don't tell anyone," Jane laughed.

"I heard Freek 'n You the other day and it reminded me of that time you pulled that old ass keyboard out of the garage, convinced you were gonna write their next big hit," he said. His sister's face went red, and he laughed.

"I will admit there was… a moment when I thought I was god's gift to producing," she replied hesitantly. Thinking back to those days of her senior year of high school, not knowing much of where her life was going, the keys were her mainstay. She'd gone to piano lessons her whole life, and she didn't really remember being that bad. The bad boy sound of Jodeci had pleased her, and it was a way to pass the time, as well as sort out some confusing emotions.

"You thought you were God's gift to Stacy King, that's for sure," Tommy responded, and Jane wondered if he really could intuit her musings, or if he was just an asshole with some coincidence.

"Yeah well, so did you," she scolded, "and you were in the eighth grade! You didn't even go to our school!"

"Didn't matter. Never matters when they have that Rizzoli fever," he joked, but instantly they sobered a bit at his current situation with Lydia – not the best statement considering all that had passed with their father.

"I'm sleeping with her, Tommy," Jane choked out, as though the sentence itself were composed of dense metal. She snatched her can of coke and guzzled, afraid that if she sipped, he would see the shaking in her hands.

He stopped moving, an incredulous look on his face. For a moment, he misunderstood. "With Stacy King?! She's back in Boston?!"

"No, dammit! I meant Maura! I haven't seen Stacy since graduation," Jane yelled. She'd consider the moment ruined if she didn't need to tell someone so badly. Right now, all she could do is regret making that person Tommy.

"No shit," he responded, reclining back fully on the couch. He let the information sink in for a few seconds. "Isn't she dating that guy, Jack?"

"Yeah," Jane said. She screwed her eyes shut – that was the part she hated the most.

"Damn, Sis. How long?" He asked, coming forward and putting a hand on her back. The semicircles he started gave her some courage to continue.

"Like a month or so? Not that long, I guess. We were drunk the first time," she answered, wringing her hands.

"Been there done that," Tommy commented. In fact, TJ, his son, was living proof of that statement.

"Thanks, Tom. Real helpful," his sister gruffed. He marveled at how she could sound exactly like their Pop sometimes. She got his body, his voice, and he got his personality – lack of impulse control, mostly.

"So… is it just a fucking thing?"

"Maybe? To her it is. Not so much for me," Jane admitted, growing quiet.

"Then I doubt it is for her," Tommy replied. "You talk to her about it?"

"Nah, I've tried. She don't wanna listen," she said, sniffling.

"Well, I think you gotta try and make her," When his sister rose her eyebrows up to her hairline, he qualified. "I don't mean like hitting her or nothin', just, you gotta be persuasive, talk her into talkin', you see what I mean?"

"Yeah, Tommy, I do," Jane responded. She had to hand it to him, he sure made things seem simple enough.

"Go tonight."

She sputtered on her coke. "What?"

"Go see her tonight. Show her it can't wait," Tommy offered.

"She's got that thing tonight, Tommy," Jane countered, sighing.

"So? Wait up. You know if there's one thing we're good at, it's being persistent."

"We'll see," she said, letting the topic run its course for the rest of their evening together. But as it drew to a close, she made up her mind – she'd take Tommy's advice and talk to Maura that night.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you to all who have reviewed! I would like to say that the reason that I am updating so quickly is that I have had the story completed on my computer for like a week now. To those of you who are saying that I am portraying Maura as treating Jane unfairly I have two things to say: 1) you are absolutely correct and I agree with you, and 2) hopefully you like how the story resolves. Just give it time, yeah? Thank you for your feedback; I love to read all you have to say. You make it worth my while!**


	8. Chapter 8

Jane admitted to herself that it was dumb to think she would arrive, perhaps see Maura stepping out of a cab, and then she would sweep her off her feet. Or maybe, a tad more realistically, she'd surprise her by waiting in her kitchen, drinks ready.

Instead, Jane was pissed. She had waited there at the island, sipping a beer, hopeful and nervous all the same, when she heard a vehicle pull up. Excitement had filled her, until she heard voices on the other side of the door – voices that, as they approached, clearly belonged to Maura and Jack. _She had taken Jack._

So, before they could walk in and she blew the top off the whole damn thing, she stormed up the stairs and into the master bedroom. If they made it that far, they'd have to contend with her presence, at least.

She heard only an opening of the lock, and Maura saying "not tonight," followed by a sigh. The door then clicked shut, and Jane waited for what felt like an eternity on the edge of the bed that she'd spent more time in in the last two weeks than most anywhere else. She worried at her hands, those ancient scars tightening with her lungs and her patience. The pad of heels against carpet, nearly indiscernible, electrified her, and the bedroom door swung open.

"Jane!" Maura jumped, putting a hand to her chest at the sight of her best friend perched on her bed, unexpected but not unwelcome. "You didn't tell me you were coming."

The medical examiner, in her surprise, didn't register the change in Jane's eyes or the spike in her body heat. If she had, she might have guessed that it was because of her dress, or her make-up, as Jane had always… _appreciated_ her style, even before everything happened between them.

More than just arousal existed in the room, however. As Maura stood there longer, in her backless Givenchy, expensive jewelry, and chicly mussed hair, she sensed the seismic something steaming over and into the air between them. Still she waited on Jane, who didn't make her wait long.

"Why'd you take him?" the detective asked, clearly interrogating.

Maura tried to not let it shake her bones. "I'm sorry?" It was a desperate reach; even she could understand the implication in Jane's words. But, she wanted to elongate this however she could.

"You always take me to shit like that," Jane, all too happy to play along, growled her response and stalked toward the woman who, in heels, was now near her height. She did not touch, nor did she soften her gaze when she approached. She merely watched, appraising, restraining herself at the sight of Maura in black. The tan of the medical examiner's freckled skin, juxtaposed with the shine of the diamonds on her neck and wrist, made Jane alive with possession, envy, need.

"He's…" Maura gulped under the scrutiny, "He's my boyfriend, Jane. That's why I took him."

"Why is he your boyfriend? When you have _this?_ " Jane practically hissed, the sibilants slithering into the air that Maura breathed, taking the express of her bloodstream all the way to her pelvis.

"It's complicated," the woman answered, looking away for fear of judgment.

"It's not, Maura," Jane said, stepping closer, so that they touched, front to front, "you can't have both forever."

"I know. He's already started to wonder," Maura replied, looking back into Jane's eyes, dropping her guard for only a moment, letting something shine through in hopes the Italian would catch it.

"If you and I…?" Jane responded. She was suddenly lightheaded with guilt. Had they truly been so careless that he might suspect?

"Why I haven't slept with him in a month," Maura confessed, quietly, like she shared company with a priest.

The revelation caused Jane to look toward the heavens. It cracked her resolve to refrain from touch like it shattered her willpower to leave angry. There was anger, yes, but no longer the ability to resist the triangular pull of the sheets, Maura's body, and her own heart. The pressure of the three promised to boil her alive.

"No one else?" She asked, cockily and with desire, all at once.

Maura laughed wryly. "Is there any need for anyone else?" she asked, more to herself than to Jane.

"I sure as hell don't think so," Jane shuddered out. She let herself be pushed by Maura to the edge of the bed again, in a slow foreplay. When her ass hit the duvet, she put her hands behind her body to steady it.

Maura stood back, and kicked off her heels. Jane sat up straight again at the implications, and awaited the show to ensue. When the woman reached behind her neck to unclasp her necklace, however, she held her hand up. "No. Leave it on," she ordered. Maura smirked. "Leave the jewelry on."

She did as told, then shimmied out of her dress. The two bedside lamps provided the only light for the room – shadows touched on every exposed part of her body, begging Jane to drag her onto the bed and into some clarity. Instead Jane left her there standing in her underwear, and traveled over the mattress to the nightstand. She pulled out the harness she'd become accustomed to wearing periodically in the past few weeks, and then it was her turn to put on a show.

The detective stood up, straps in her grip, toy secure, and marched back around to where Maura was waiting. She kissed with no hands, a surprising feat considering the allure of Maura in only lingerie bottoms – lingerie she once thought was meant for another, but that notion was proven so delectably wrong by the other woman's admission.

The kiss all but tore Maura apart. It was calculated, but angry, raw and warm, all at once. Jane's mouth was heavy against hers, but it was no burden; that tongue slipped between her lips with ease, rocking back and forth with what could only be the effortlessness of natural talent. It undulated sometimes against teeth or sometimes against Maura's own, sometimes retreating, sometimes filling. If she moaned, Jane's tongue caught it and rolled it back against her throat; if she whimpered, Jane swallowed it whole.

In what was feeling more and more like a game of chicken, Maura surrendered when her hands finally had enough: they needed to touch. She rustled the hem of Jane's navy tee out of the way and moaned when she hit belt-buckle pay dirt, hoping that Jane didn't dare touch her body before she could undo it and let those dark jeans fall.

In that moment, Jane blessed her, and refrained from touching. Her fingers grasped leather with a satisfying _pop_ , and when the tooth of the buckle was let free, Maura took a few breaths to admire her progress. An eyeful of Jane's thighs coming out of those boyshorts infused a gasp into their kiss, and she greedily pushed those jeans with her foot as far as they would go until they hit Nike running shoes.

Normally, in a moment like this, Jane would have laughed, or shown some amusement at the frustration in Maura's body language. This time she pulled the doctor to her with one arm around her waist, and threaded two fingers in the hem of her black lace underwear. As she pulled, fingernails dragged against Maura's ass, tattooing it with goosebumps in their wake. The hint was taken and while Jane kicked off her shoes, Maura kicked off that underwear.

Jane picked her up, and immediately, almost of their own accord, her legs wrapped around those hips. The two didn't have far to go, and yet, the kissless time from standing until lying together sent her into a frenzy. As Jane settled on top of her she groped with her lips for the Italian's, but she was denied each time, left to suck on expanses of skin that covered, shoulders, neck, chest.

Just as she was about to ask why, Jane held her gaze, and guided it down between their legs. She was to witness their union. And, when she felt it slip inside of her, easy but heavy, she understood: Jane kissed her again then, the same heady kiss, and the feelings of above and below were identical. It disoriented her, the combination of the intent thrusts and wet lips meeting, in a way they never had before, so much so that she had to grasp her detective's shoulders and brace for the unknown.

When Maura watched the scratch of her bracelet against Jane's skin, when the diamonds glinted in the light, when she heard the springs in her bed bounce, it brought her pleasure-painfully back into the present: to their sideways position on her mattress, so that the leg Jane wasn't using for leverage spilled over the side of it. Then she was hit by the sloppy sounds of them together, by their predicament and the words the taller woman had uttered before they fell into bed. "Did… did you want me… to take you instead?" She struggled to ask between sighing and grunting.

For a moment, Jane stared at her in confusion, until she realized Maura was talking about the gala. She said nothing in response. The springs whined when she twisted her hips, and Maura let out an identical whine when she felt the result shifting in her, rubbing against a particularly sweet spot.

"You… hate those things," Maura panted again, and Jane grabbed her hips both in a steadying motion, and as if to say _you talk too much_. The medical examiner only noticed how much deeper it made her feel everything.

"Are you being… strong and silent now?" She managed, out of mounting annoyance at the quiet, to choke out more per breath. This effort was despite the way their sweat mingled and created a scent that rendered only two words in her mind: future and home. There was still no response, and she was so caught up in her thoughts that she initially failed to feel the way Jane slowed her undulations to a scream-worthy crawl – she only heard it in the way her bed creaked in staccato. In the creak's sometimes-silence-sometimes-noise, the gravity of Jane's plan, implemented from the moment they kissed that night, obliterated her.

Tears, of anger threatened to spill onto Maura's cheek. She couldn't believe she had made it here, to the precipice of orgasm, surrendering completely, without noticing. And the insanity of it all was the fact that her body begged her to continue surrendering. Her mind willed her heels, which were wrapped at Jane's waist, to dig in to the point of pain, but instead they dropped, letting her legs tangle limply, intimately with the other woman's. She hated this self-mutiny, but she couldn't stop it – she tried vainly to get Jane to do it by grabbing her face and mustering the most pissed off expression she could in that moment.

"You don't get to make love to me," she croaked, finally saying it out loud, mad at herself for not noticing Jane's plot. Jane smiled for the first time all night. "You don't get to yet. It isn't fair," her voice, wet with those unshed tears, was swallowed up by another kiss. The kiss sent her reeling, and Jane held her until she collapsed.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm goin' HAM on this update business.**


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm just sayin' is it worth it to drive 30 minutes outside Boston, just for IKEA? I mean, people come here because it's cheap, and you're not really lacking in the funds department," Jane grumbled as she waited at a light to pull into the IKEA parking structure, Maura on the passenger side.

"It reminds me of Europe," said Maura wistfully. The distinctly American late-afternoon summer sun hit her face as she gazed out the window, reminding her that though Europe was old and grand, there really wasn't a place she'd rather be than in Boston with the woman seated next to her. "Besides, why are you so grumpy? I let you drive my car."

"I dunno," Jane answered truthfully. She breathed out, and most of the gentle annoyance subsided. When they pulled into a spot and walked toward the entrance, she had regained a little of her Rizzoli humor. "I don't know why I agreed to come, because I know if you buy anything, I'm gonna be the one putting it together," she mock-griped.

"That's right, you will. You'll enjoy it, too, because you enjoy doing things for me almost as much as you enjoy watching sports," Maura said through a laugh. They waited for an elevator to come take them to the showroom above. A beat later, the smaller woman continued. "And you agreed because I asked you right after sex."

Jane, turning nearly purple, darted her eyes around them to make sure they were relatively alone. Thankfully, the elevator arrived and they were the only ones to board. "And how is that fair, Maura?!"

"It's the least you could do after what you pulled," Maura said quietly, but not sadly. They both understood she meant the intimacy of their last… meeting. Intimacy she hadn't anticipated and hadn't anticipated liking so much.

Jane noted her hesitancy to use the word love in this context, and it sobered her. "Alright," she said in response, gathering a breath and letting go of some tension, "but you're buyin' me meatballs."

Maura hummed, grateful for the room to talk about things on her terms. "Of course," she said. When she took Jane's hand just before the doors of the elevator opened, she was glad that she felt no resistance.

Out they walked, fingers intertwined, as though Maura were test-driving something. She walked them toward one of the larger-looking kitchen displays, and admired the finish on the cabinets.

"I ain't building you a whole kitchen, Maura," the detective warned, but with no bite in her growl.

The doctor pulled her closer for it. "But just think how fun it would be," she replied. With a shimmy of her shoulders, she drew the first chuckle out of Jane for the day.

"Fun for who?! It'll be a whirlwind of sweat, tears, and Swedish."

Maura knew how to defuse a bomb: she dragged Jane away from the display, indicating that she would not be remodeling her kitchen anytime soon. "It certainly would be fun for me, especially if you sweating is part of the equation." Apparently, she also knew how to create an explosion.

Jane stopped walking, almost let go of the hand in hers. Maura tugged on her, led her towards the section of drawer units. They wandered the floor for ten minutes or so before the taller woman could recover enough to talk back. Maura wanted to have this conversation now? Then far be it from her to resist it. "You could have me all to yourself, you know," she said under her breath.

They passed into the bedroom area of the floor, strolling by bed frames, sheet sets, and pillows. "I already do," replied Maura.

Jane scoffed.

"I do. We both know you aren't seeing anyone else. You're not even thinking about seeing anyone else."

"I'm not really seeing you either."

"Have you been unconscious the past month or so?"

"Sexing isn't seeing, Maura. That's what I'm sayin'. You could see me. You could have me."

"I happen to like sex, Jane."

"Quit deflecting. That really doesn't appeal to you? Us?"

"Of course 'us' appeals to me. The word itself makes me shiver, makes me think of how we feel together," when Maura admitted that, she was brought plummeting back into the present: they had been standing in front of the same queen sized bedframe for most of the conversation.

"You know, one of us is going to have to give in," Jane sighed.

It sounded like an ultimatum and Maura's spine went cold under her ruffled white blouse and jeans. The sweat on her bare arms was uncharacteristic, scary. "Give in? Is this a war?"

"No, but it isn't fair or fun anymore," Jane said as they picked up their walk again. Her eyes went anywhere but the woman on her arm.

"I don't see why things have to be a competition," Maura said to herself, already knowing the answer to her question.

"When's the last time you fucked Jack?" Jane asked. The question caused Maura's grip on her hand to tighten.

"I'm sorry?" she asked. Again with the deflection.

"You heard me," Jane asserted.

"That night before you and I slept with each other the first time," the doctor whispered.

"So what 's the hold up, then? Is he that great that you don't need sex with him to have a relationship with him? Is my personality that offputting that you can just have sex with me without wanting anything more?" The truer question was the second, they both knew. Despite it all, Jane seemed resigned, relaxed, confident in all she said, or perhaps no longer resisting the pull of putting everything out in the open.

"You're dangerous, he's not," Maura, however, had been prodded into recklessness. She spoke aloud everything that had weighed on her. "You don't let me," she paused to drag Jane into an isolated corner so that they faced one another. "You _never_ let me fuck the way I'm used to fucking, to use your language. You made it about the two of us from the very beginning and it has been… it's been life-altering. Sex with you is messy and it feels like falling, but god if it isn't good. But as much as that's true, it can't compare to just having you in my life. If we take it to the next step, put emotion into the sex like you did last night, and this all falls apart, I couldn't handle it." She worried at her lip and put her hands on Jane's shoulders, relishing the warmth of skin and bone under a Red Sox tee. "Why did you do what you did last night?"

"Because I love you, Maura. That's what you do with someone you love. Simple, ain't it?" Jane smiled through a chuckle and Maura cursed her lightheartedness. "But if you can't handle it, I can't either. I don't think I'm gonna be able to sleep with you anymore if that's all it's gonna be, if there's no chance that you ditch Jack and come and get it. I'll always be your best friend, but I also can't keep having sex with someone I'm in love with who isn't in love with me."

They arrived at the cafeteria, and Maura kept the strange mix of elation and tears at bay.

* * *

By the time they had moved through the warehouse and toward the exit, Maura had picked a new dresser, nightstand, and wall shelves for the guest bedroom. Not much had been said on the ride home, and now Jane sat on that guest room floor, towel on her back, window open. The night air was not necessarily cool, but she'd rather fresh than conditioned air with the smell of sawdust and furniture finish wafting from the boxes they'd brought home.

She played their conversation from before in her head. Maura hadn't said that she loved her back, but Jane knew there was something there. She just wasn't sure how long she could hold on until the doctor made a decision. She had made her own choice to stay away until there was some clarity, and she knew it would be tough. While her hands worked a screwdriver and while her forehead dripped sweat down near her eye, she convinced herself that she did what was best.

The voices of Joe Castiglione and Dave O'Brien called Boston summer baseball over interspersed pockets of silence and crowd chatter, and she knew that, as it neared 9PM, that it would be hard to resist Maura. She'd changed into an old t-shirt with some cut off sleeves and her closed-cuff adidas pants (which she refused to admit were designed for soccer players) to do this work, and it completed the perfect storm: everything about the moment was the epitome of comfort, and yet here she sat, in a multimillion dollar Beacon Hill home. If Maura came upstairs, she couldn't guarantee her self-imposed abstinence.

And of course, like clockwork, Maura appeared in the doorway not minutes later. She held a glass of ice water in her hand, and Jane wondered how she could be so perfect. _That's a breaking ball that drops in there for a strike…_ Castiglione's voice, crackling and popping over the airwaves, broke the silence. The smaller woman walked toward Jane, there in the middle of the room, and got down on her knees to be just a bit taller than her. She handed her the water, and Jane took a hearty gulp.

"How's it going?" Maura asked.

"It's fine. I'll be working for awhile, but the shelves and nightstand are done, at least. All I've got left is this hunk of junk," Jane replied, patting the dark wood of the dresser she was constructing. The doctor's vicinity affected her heartbeat, but she breathed in to regulate it. They shared air, and she could smell the sweet notes of a red wine in between the deceptive crisp of sawdust. She attempted to bury herself in the amalgamation of scents, rather than the view not too far from her face.

"Jane," Maura said. She cupped the detective's cheeks and looked her full in the eyes.

"Yeah?"

"I've thought about what you said. Earlier today."

"Oh?" Now Jane was all ears.

"You were right," the doctor nodded.

"Say that again," Jane smirked, and Maura moved into her lap.

"You. Were. Right. I shouldn't be with a man I don't want in every way."

The Italian changed her glance from eyes to lips repeatedly as those words fell from them.

"And I should be with someone whom I do want in every way," Maura whispered.

"I think that's a good life philosophy," Jane replied.

"He's away on a mini-vacation with Ally and his ex wife until tomorrow. I'll talk to him when he gets back."

"Ok," said Jane. She wrapped one arm around Maura's waist. She dared not speak the happiness that bubbled just below the surface.

"It's a bad sign when I find you sexy even in these old clothes," Maura said after a beat, and then kissed the woman under her tenderly.

"You like it, huh?" Jane responded, waggling her eyebrows. A Red Sox player hit an RBI double, as narrated by Castiglione, but neither woman cared.

"So much so, that I want you to stop," the doctor purred, and ran her hands up and under Jane's shirt. The skin and muscle that met her incited a fire between her hips.

"Now? When I'm almost done?" Jane asked in sarcasm.

"I want you to stop," Maura reiterated, "and I want you to make love to me."

"Make love, huh? I thought it wasn't fair if I do that."

"You won't get to if you keep insisting on being funny instead of being on top of me."

Jane gulped. "Right here?"

"No. Please take me to my room, where it doesn't smell like a warehouse and there isn't a ballgame on in the background."

"You got it," said the detective, scooping her up, letting them both stand.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews and love! Keep it coming! I think it's genuinely so cool that I can see your guys' reaction and discussion play out in real time, and that there are trends among you. To those of you who say you're loving it - thank you! I can't wait to share the rest with you. To those of you who don't like it so much - I could tell you all the reasons why I think it's normal for a human to be reacting the way Maura is reacting to her situation, but I won't, lol. I can't wait to share the rest with you, too.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Here it is! The last chapter before a tiny little epilogue that I wrote just to tie things up a little bit. This is the meat of the ending. All your reviews and follows have been great; I'm always glad to see them, and I'm always glad to read what you think! Now, on with the show.**

* * *

The ballgame ended up being on in the background anyway, because it could be heard from two doors down. Maura hadn't seemed to mind when Jane had built her up and then tore her down, and she didn't seem to mind now when its replay provided the muffled soundtrack to their lazy kisses.

Being under the covers, a body on top of her, slow presses of lips to lips, would have sounded positively banal to her a few months prior, but now she was beginning to see the merit in it. Besides, when the body belonged to Jane, the longest and handsomest not only of the Rizzolis, but of the people she had slept with, how could there be any room to complain?

"Was that so bad?" Jane asked, her voice rough from orgasm and a hefty dosage of 11PM. Her hair, still in a ponytail, touched her face in errant wisps, and Maura wiped at them with one hand. The other stayed on her side slick with sweat.

"It wasn't bad the first time," Maura said in response to the other woman's shit-eating grin. "That was the problem."

"Well, even though you liked it, you sure weren't too happy about it," Jane remarked, a far off hurt, almost too small to be discernable, pooled in her eyes.

The woman under her kissed her forehead. "Did we win?"

"Huh?"

"The Red Sox. Did they win their game?" Maura asked again.

"No clue," Jane answered truthfully. They both laughed, faces touching, until they were interrupted by the harsh vibration of a cellphone on the nightstand.

"No, no no no, no," the doctor whined, burrowing into the detective's shoulder. "When did you even bring that in here?"

"It was in my pocket when we came in," Jane explained, reaching for the phone, wincing when fingernails dug into the skin on her hip. "Ow, Maura! You know I'm on call. Rizzoli," she gruffed when she answered the phone. Dispatch notified her of the body's location, and then she made another call. "Hey. I got time to shower? Yeah, I'll be there in twenty, then. Thanks, Korsak."

"Is it close by?" Maura asked. Jane rose and shook her hair out of its tie; the sheet fell into her lap and her long legs caused her feet to plant squarely on the floor when she sat. The medical examiner wavered between continuing to lie down, and rising to join her. Ultimately she chose neither, opting for getting out of bed altogether and reaching for the robe on her window seat.

"Yeah, bout five minutes. Korsak bought me some time. What're you doing?" Jane asked back, watching Maura gather a towel from in the bathroom's linen closet.

"Grabbing a towel to put out for you. Start your shower or you're going to be late," she replied. As she began to turn on the soft lights in the bedroom, she caught the brunette staring at her. It gave her heart a jolt, and she moved back to kiss her.

"Just a couple hours into this and you're already nagging, huh?" Jane smirked good-naturedly. Maura blushed furiously.

"Well, I…"

"I'm kidding, Maura. Just kidding."

"Yes, well, I'll put out your suit for you. You only keep a dark gray one here, so I'm hoping that's alright."

"It'll do." The detective called behind her, and then closed the bathroom door.

Maura heard the shower jets spark to life. She admonished her previous willful ignorance when it came to her and Jane because she realized that despite her six-month relationship with Jack, Jane was the only other person besides her to bathe in the master bathroom. She'd held back Jane's hair as she vomited with the flu in her toilet; she'd watched her blood swirl down the shower drain after a fist-fight with a drunken, disrespectful Tommy. Jack had used the facilities a few times, of course; Jane inhabited the space as if it were her own.

Maura found herself glad that the last piece had slid into place. Jane should be able to move about her home freely, because she moved about Maura's heart freely. She reached into the first few feet of her closet and pulled out the tall woman's suit, grabbing one of the few colored t-shirts she left at the house for the express purpose of being able to stay long periods of time while on call. It started not long into their friendship, and had proved prudent more than once. When she laid the clothes out on the bed, leaving the duffel filled with other necessary items at the foot, she sighed. It was all too predictable that Jane would be called away on the first night of their breakthrough, but those were the parameters of the job. The job required attention at all hours, the interpersonal skills to deal with the gamut of human emotion, and caffeine. Lots of it. This is why she walked downstairs to the kitchen to fix a tumbler of coffee for the detective, and when she returned to the bedroom, she watched a barefoot Jane fix her firearm and badge to her belt.

"That for me?" Jane asked, looking up and smiling.

"Well, I certainly don't drink coffee this late," Maura chided, but all in good humor.

Jane rolled her eyes and mock-laughed.

"Take it, it's going to be a long night, and you're going to need the boost," the smaller woman entered doctor mode, but there was a softness to her voice that crawled up and down Jane's spine.

"Those doctor's orders?" Jane said. She smirked when the fingers holding the tumbler faltered just a little. She counted it as a good thing that she had started to grab it.

"Well, I happen to have first hand knowledge that you've had a very… athletic evening. That alone should make you more tired than not," Maura said as she winked.

Jane laughed, and sat on the edge of the bed to pull out socks and a pair of boots from her duffle. Maura sat next to her, rubbing her thigh, taking comfort in watching the routine of Jane's dressing. If one didn't know her all too well, they might have missed that Jane was meticulous and rigid in many minute aspects of her life. She followed plans, executed them. Maura suspected that it was a mechanism to cope with the chaos that her work and family life brought. It was another way that they were similar. Maura's habits spilled over into work and play as well, and they differed in that respect, but she reveled in their points of sameness. "I'm gonna turn off the radio real quick. Be right back," Jane said.

The light was still on in the guest room, as was the radio, when she entered, intent on turning them both off. The half-built dresser mocked her from the floor, finger-wagging her gut about something like unfinished business. She ignored it, turned the volume dial so that Joe Castiglione's masculine click faded further and further away until the little light on the radio disappeared. She then shut the window, tugging it with one hand to make sure it stayed that way, and when she walked to the threshold, she took one last look before catching the light. She would have to tackle the rest of the project tomorrow.

Her boots shuffled back into the hallway and into the master bedroom, where she saw Maura fixing her blouse from earlier onto a hanger.

"Alright. I'm off. Wish me luck?" Jane's brows wagged as she spoke, and she was rewarded with a kiss when she stood, now over seven inches taller than a barefoot Maura.

"Good luck. If for some reason you get off before the start of my work day, call me, please," the medical examiner said. She had her arms crossed over her chest.

"Yes ma'am," Jane replied, saluting. "Get some sleep," she offered in a much gentler tone, an ease infusing the hoarseness of her voice, and with that she walked out into the hall.

Jack had not planned what he was about to do; he only knew that he must. He and Maura had hit somewhat of a rough patch before his vacation. Perhaps distant described the situation more accurately than rough, and that was the problem. He would admit that his sudden runaway with Ally and her mother compounded the situation, having given her no real notice ahead of time. But, with his ex winning tickets to Six Flags in a work raffle, he didn't really have notice either.

He held the clafoutis in his hand as an extension of goodwill. Maura liked things like this – obscure, French, opulent. Maura specifically liked this thing – with its cherries and custard and unpronounceable name; she had gushed over it the first time they dined at Maison de la Mer. It smelled good, though, he admitted to himself when he shuffled through her courtyard.

The knocker on the door loomed over him, and he wasn't sure why he was nervous; maybe the late hour spooked him. Maybe the distance forming between he and Maura fostered his apprehension. Either way, at 11:30PM, he fished his key out of his pocket with his free hand, and walked into the main hallway.

One kitchen light was on, which struck him as odd so late, but he took it as a good omen. Grabbing a couple forks from the silverware drawer, he pumped a little pep in his step, and tried his best saunter toward the staircase.

It was short-lived, however, when he saw a figure emerge from the master bedroom. "Jane?" he called out.

* * *

"Jane?"

The half-sipped coffee in her mouth sputtered at the sound of her name coming from below. She peered down, one free hand darting to her firearm, but then she saw who was calling out. "Jack." She said.

He looked ghostly there in the dim light and bright polo shirt, out of place. His supposed mini-vacation didn't even have much to do with it. She moved her hand away from her gun and straightened her shoulders. She knew exactly what he had seen: her, stepping out of the master bedroom late at night, freshly showered and about to leave for work. Her, in a space he'd considered his own. She turned her head and called out. "Maura!"

With a latch click, said woman emerged, eyes only on Jane. "What's wrong? Did you forget something?" she asked, and put a hand on Jane's forearm, thumb rubbing back and forth.

Jane just cleared her throat and nodded to the foot of the stairs.

Maura actually jumped. "Jack! What are you doing here? I thought you and your family were gone until tomorrow!" To her credit, her blush was the only sign of impropriety on her.

"I got back early," He said, reaching back into his throat for a growl, and pulling out more of a rustle. "What's she doing here?"

Jane's eyes snapped open wide and her head whipped back towards him. "Excuse me?"

"What are you doing here?" He reiterated, this time addressing her directly.

"Don't you forget I've been here since before you were even a thought in her head," the detective pointed in his direction.

"Jane," Maura warned.

"We need to talk, Maura," Jack bristled. He climbed up at few steps.

Jane started to meet him halfway. "What you say to her you can say to me," she said, giving him a proper growl to observe.

"Absolutely not, Jane," Maura put her foot down. "You have to go to work, and this is not your relationship. It's mine."

Jane was a mixture of hurt and confused until she saw the glint in her eyes. A glint that said _I'll call you to come back when this is over_.

She left, brushing Jack on her way out.

* * *

"What crawled up your ass, Detective Rizzoli?" Frankie Jr. barked when his sister showed up to the scene, blowing past her coworkers.

"Update me," Jane barked back. She marched toward the overhead crime scene lights, and Frankie came up behind her.

"Terra Richards. Caucasian female, late 20s, out for a run," He said in an utterly professional tone. "Looks like she was strangled."

"Out here?" Jane asked rhetorically. "Beacon Hill ain't exactly the North End, you know." When her brother went to put a hand on her shoulder, she shifted and pulled out some purple latex to shove onto her hands.

"Yeah, it certainly ain't common out here. Coroners're thinkin' she was moved. Somethin' about lividity. Seriously, what's goin' on with you?" he whined; Jane hadn't really brought her wrath down on him in awhile.

"Quit askin' and tell me who's workin' the body," she snapped when they stooped under the yellow scene tap.

"It's Ramirez," he offered, "but hell no, I'm not quittin'. What's up? You walked in with a stick so far up your ass that you had a limp."

"Why you wanna know so bad, huh?" She bit back, stopping in her tracks.

"I'm your brother. And I like you. And last time you were like this, Casey was acting an ass," Frankie countered.

They both shuddered visibly, and then there was a barely audible Rizzoli chuckle. It could have come from either, or both.

"God dammit. Well, if we're really gonna talk about this here, I better start by confessing something."

* * *

"Sit down, Jack. We'll talk at the table," Maura sighed, starting to descend the staircase.

"I don't want to sit, Maura. I'm fine right here," said Jack. He stood one foot on the second step, one foot on the third, looking entirely unfine at that moment.

"Alright, suit yourself. But I am sitting because I am tired," Maura said, walking down and toward the sofa. She found herself annoyed by his petulance, and yet refrained from adding "and sore" after her statement. The least she owed him was to spare his pride.

He moved anyway, and followed her. He took his usual seat in the armchair nearby and huffed. "What was she doing here, Maura?"

"Jane is allowed to be in my home, Jack," she answered, perturbed at the insinuation that she was to be monopolized by him, whether that insinuation was intentional or not.

"Oh that's a bunch of bullshit and you know it," he said in equal parts embarrassment and anger. And, Maura was about to concede that to him, tell him that he more than deserved to feel those feelings, until he opened his mouth again. "She is not allowed in my bed, where I am supposed to be, with my girlfriend!"

"Stop. Just stop there for a second," Maura snipped, an air of regality, detached authority, possessing her. She straightened the front of her silk robe before continuing. "That is not your bed. It is _my_ bed-"

"You know damn well what I meant Maura-" Jack cut her off, and she returned the favor.

"Yes I do know damn well what you meant. You still mean it. You mean to possess me. That is not your bedroom, it has never been your bedroom, and it will never be your bedroom. Your pride has always been at the forefront of the way you speak to me, the way you act with me, and it is entirely inappropriate. You do not get to own me simply because you are insecure," Maura said in a tone of voice just a few notches too loud to be considered calm.

Jack was silent for a few beats before responding. "Did she fuck you? Is she why I haven't been fucking you?" He asked with disdain, moving from the chair to the couch, crouching close to her.

It was the final straw. Maura nearly whispered her next words. "No, Jack. We fucked each other. See, that's the main difference with Jane; with you, I practically fucked myself."

The hurt pride flooded over his face. He played multiple sexual encounters that they had had in his head, and the realization stunned him. He moved from his position of cornering her, and sat down next to her, dazed.

This did not extinguish Maura's anger, but it tempered it. "It was wrong of me, to cheat on you."

Still staring off into space, he responded. "It was wrong of you to go out with me in the first place."

"That's probably true," she conceded. "It hurts me that I hurt you, and I'm sorry. But you cannot say those things to me, or to any woman. You don't own me, Jack. Jane doesn't own me."

He scoffed.

She waited.

"Is this because I've been spending so much time with Ally and Lorraine?" He asked, after a few minutes.

"What? Of course not. I admire that you and your ex try so hard to make things work for the sake of your daughter. It's truly a great trait of yours," Maura said truthfully. The overwhelming feeling in her brain was that of awkwardness. That guilt, shame, love, and remorse were lower than it on the list told her that they had been done for awhile. "Jane and I… we were on a course that I don't think could have been altered by much of anything. But that doesn't excuse the fact that I devalued our relationship by sleeping with someone else."

"And to think, I've been feeling guilty for wanting to hang out with Lorraine more," he laughed, without any humor. It was more like a pained breath leaving his lungs in a puff.

Maura smiled sadly. The truly fucked up part was that she probably should have spent time being jealous of their rekindled friendship if she hadn't been so preoccupied with someone else.

"I liked you," he said simply, as though letting go of the thought for one last time.

"I liked you, too, Jack. I still do. You're a good person," she responded.

He said nothing, but nodded, and sat still for a few moments. Finally, he got up. "I'm gonna go now," he stated. "Maybe we can talk when I'm not so pissed off."

Maura waited until he was out the door to say, "I think that would be a good idea." Then she exhaled and trudged back upstairs.

* * *

"You're sleepin' with Maura," Frankie said.

"What? How in the hell did you figure that out? You can't even tell if a body's been moved or not," Jane whispered harshly, looking out for anybody who might overhear their conversation.

"Janie, c'mon. You look at her like she's God's gift to mankind and she looks at you like you're an oak and she's back in French grade school," he snickered. Immediately Jane's mind went back to Maura's story about winning a tree-climbing competition in boarding school, and her face turned red enough to be seen even in the dark.

"Jesus, you gotta be so graphic?" she asked.

"Don't act like it's a trait unique to just this Rizzoli," he countered, and they walked back up to the body together.

"I'm gonna have some techs come over and take the decedent back to the lab, where she'll be autopsied in the morning. Would you like a few minutes to look it over?" Araceli Ramirez, a tall, dark-skinned Dominicana, asked the two detectives before she left to sign off on some paperwork.

"That'd be great, Ramirez," Jane nodded to her. Frankie smiled at her.

"Ok, no problem, Rizzolis," she smiled at the both of them, a twinkle reaching her eye at the sight of both of them together. Then she was off to her van.

"So… you're sleepin' with Maura," Frankie began again.

"Yeah," Jane said, "and today, Jack came by her house, pretty late."

"So?" he asked.

"I was there."

"Oh! Shit. He catch you, you know, in the act?"

"God no. But he did see me as I was walking out of her room, gettin' ready to come here."

"Well, that's worse, Janie."

"Yeah. I know. And Maura didn't want me to stay while they talked. I guess I just got a bug up my ass about them being alone together, I don't know," as Jane spoke, she was intent on the details in front of her: chipped nail polish, mismatched jacket around Terra's waist.

"I understand. But like I said, sis, Maura really loves you," Frankie said as he patted his sister on her shoulder.

"You said she wanted to climb me like a tree, Frankie. Jesus. That's hardly equatable to love," Jane replied.

"All I know is I haven't seen her look at any of her boyfriends like that. Ever."

* * *

Their processing had gone pretty quickly. Jane had shown Frankie the ropes of some of the more forensic aspects of their job in homicide; he had listened to her dilemma and comforted her. She walked back to her car, intent on being present for the autopsy first thing in the morning, and when she slumped into her squad car, she pulled out her phone to call the doctor in charge of that autopsy.

 _"Jane?"_ there was a sleepy voice on the other line, and for a moment Jane felt guilt at waking it.

"Yeah. I'm done here; me and Frankie are workin' it and we'll pick it back up at the autopsy," said the detective. She fidgeted with the red and blue B keychain hanging off the ignition. Was Jack still there? Would she be able to go back, sleep in Maura's bed? Or would she be relegated to her condo?

" _I got a call from Ramirez_ ," Maura said, and her friend imagined her rubbing the sleep from her eyes, " _I'll get started first thing in the morning. She said the two of you were in rare form this evening_."

"Well we were talkin' about some pretty personal stuff; it might have gotten a little loud," Jane winced when she spoke, thinking back to the more… vocal comments she and Frankie Jr. had made.

" _I think she is more interested in how you look_ ," Maura jibed. In her bubbled a little bit of jealousy, both for Frankie and Jane, her Rizzolis. She pictured the two of them, in their element, and her blood ran slightly hot.

Jane ran slightly cold in fear and anticipation. "Maura. Is Jack there? What happened?"

" _Come home and I'll tell you all about it._ "

Fear and anticipation were the last things she felt after Maura's husky beckoning. _Home._


	11. Epilogue

**_A/N: An epilogue because I love baseball and I wanted to bring everything full circle. Thank you for all your support._**

* * *

 _A few months later..._

"C'mon Janie! Whack one to right and we can all go home!" Frankie Jr. called out to his sister at home plate. He danced around the second base bag, feet light and tricky. His footwork and the blistering midday sun overwhelmed Vice's second baseman Vinny Pestano; his sweat more of nervousness than of exertion, though there was plenty of both.

Jane heard her little brother loud and clear, but her body language never wavered. She ran through all her ticks at the plate: a half-swing for each one-one-thousand in her head that the pitcher didn't throw, three glances at her batting gloves for each ball outside. The pitch she was waiting for, the best pitch she was going to get all at-bat, came to her then, and she made sure to make it count. She ripped a double down the right field line at Teddy Ebersol Field, and was on her horse.

Frankie Jr. whooped and hollered all the way home, looking more like a bear rounding the bases than a man. He was slow and big, but slid across home in one thundering swipe.

"Yeah!" Jane yelled, clapping wildly at second – she had tied the score at three. A home run was what they both had wanted, but she would take a tie, because a tie with a runner on came with a chance.

And with their secret weapon coming up to bat, Homicide liked their chances. Maura Isles, usually flawless, coordinated, had once stunk up the softball field, especially in games against the drug unit. Months of practice had led up to this moment when she stepped into the box and dug in. She gripped her bat tight, took a few practice swings before really settling, and made sure that she felt comfortable in the _swish_ of her Boston Homicide jersey. _Perfect form, symmetrical rotation of the hips, adequate bat speed and control_. These were the components of her mantra until a gruff voice broke through it all.

"Let's go, Maura! Bring me home! Make us winners!" Jane coached from second. She took great care not to skip around the bag for fear of being tagged out, but stayed still two feet away. Maura looked out to her when she heard her voice, and nodded.

Martinez was pitching and she knew he would not hesitate to try and make her look like a fool. He was not a malicious man, but he was a proud one and a jokester, and he still liked Jane. This made Maura stick out like a sore thumb, but she also knew something that he didn't: she had been training for this moment for a long-ass time. So, when she settled in, and he looked to his catcher, Parnell, for signs, she inhaled a calming breath and hoped for a ball she could control.

And _whack!_ As soon as it came, she hit it with all the force only muscle memory could provide, intentionally out of the reach of the third baseman and with strength. The ball bounced out into the grass beyond the diamond, and she booked it to first. However, she was easily safe. The play developing was the one at the plate.

Jane steamrolled past third base, practically knocking McDonald, the shortstop, clear over. Her long and lean legs carried her fast to her destination, but there was so little distance between where the ball had been fielded and home, that Maura's internal calculations spelled only one thing: collision at the plate.

The ball whirred through the air, and the catcher squared up, preparing for its arrival. It was beating Jane there on its current trajectory, flying, flying, until…

It flew wide left and the detective slid in safely, foot first. As soon as she snapped back up she fist-pumped and hollered, running to first base where Maura still stood, stunned. "You did it, god dammit! You did it, Maura!" she yelled, and then nearly bowled her over in a hug.

"I did it!" Maura yelled back, when she saw the rest of homicide running toward them. She feared for their safety, but was elated at the chance to contribute.

"I told you those fat bastards wouldn't have a chance, didn't I? I told you they wouldn't stand a chance," Jane whispered into a kiss. Maura surmised that maybe listening to Jane's expertise wasn't so ill-advised after all.


End file.
